“Bring her to the Lunar Clinic. Do not waste a second.”
She had been laughing minutes ago. Spinning. Glowing with life. This cannot be real.
“But it doesn’t make sense. She was okay,” I whispered, fighting the rising terror. “Brexon, I swear she just—”
“Enough,” he snapped, carrying Nyra toward the waiting shadow carriage. His sentinels moved at once, opening the door as he slid in with our daughter held tightly against him.
I climbed in beside them, my trembling hand brushing Nyra’s pale cheek.
“Hang in there, Sweetheart. Mommy’s got you.”
Brexon didn’t say a word. His entire body was coiled tight as he held her close. His heartbeat was steady—controlled—yet I knew him too well. Beneath that ruthless calm, he was barely holding himself together.
The ride to the Lunar Clinic was suffocating. Every second stretched into a lifetime. By the time we arrived, the healers were already waiting. Brexon strode inside with the authority of an Alpha born to command, shouting orders the moment his feet crossed the threshold.
Healer Harlan intercepted us in the corridor, expression grim as he motioned for the healer's assistants to take Nyra.