Chapter 3

My daughter started running a fever.

Her forehead burned, her breathing was rapid, her little face flushed red.

I ran through the corridor carrying her, ignoring the gash a sharp stone cut into my foot.

The Head Healer shouted "Madam, slow down!" from behind, but I didn't look back.

I kicked open the pediatric clinic door.

The young healer saw the baby in my arms and, without a word, placed her inside the medicine cabinet to cool her down.

As I recounted her symptoms, his expression grew darker by the minute.

"That bottle of formula the day before yesterday—you didn't feed it to her, right?"

"No."

"Then how did she—"

"She drank medicine Leila gave her."

I clenched my fists.

"The day after delivery, Leila brought a bowl of restorative soup. I didn't drink it, but my daughter was crying badly, and Leila spooned a few drops into her mouth."

The pediatric healer's hand froze on the cabinet handle.

He turned his back to me, his voice very soft:

"Madam, do you know what silver poisoning means for a newborn pup?"

I knew.

A werewolf pup's immune system isn't fully formed in the first week of life. Even trace amounts of silver slowly accumulate in the blood. The early symptoms are fever, rash, and rapid breathing. When the accumulation reaches a critical point, organs begin to fail.

"How long do we have?" I asked.

"If the dose is small, three to five days of fever—the toxin will metabolize naturally."

He didn't turn around.

"But the premise is—during this time, she cannot come into contact with anything containing silver, including from your own body."

"What do you mean?"

"The postpartum supplements you've been taking—were they issued from the clan storehouse?"

I froze.

The supplements Axel had sent on the second day postpartum had indeed been from the clan's standard distribution. I'd opened a box of blood-building oral solution and noticed a faint bitterness—I'd thought it was just the herb's natural taste.

"There's silver in those too?"

The pediatric healer turned around, his face carrying a weary resignation:

"The storehouse inventory has been under Miss Leila's management for the past six months."

I slid down the wall and sat on the floor.

My daughter made a weak cry from inside the medicine cabinet, like something was pressing on her throat.

I looked up at the ceiling—moonstone halos wobbling, one circle after another.

"Does the Head Healer know?"

"She suspects, but has no proof. Miss Leila replaced two storehouse managers with her own people from the Shadow Clan. Every purchase order passed through her hands. The Elders' Council investigated twice and found nothing."

"And Axel?"

The pediatric healer dropped his gaze: "The Clan Chief's sense of smell has been off for half a year. Haven't you noticed? He used to be able to detect a stranger's scent from three kilometers away. Now he can't even tell when the kitchen meat has gone bad."

I closed my eyes.

The long-term effects of Soulsever herb.

Axel had been drugged for six months—his sense of smell dulled, his judgment impaired, and he'd had no idea.

Leila didn't just want to steal a child. She wanted to steal the entire Grey Moon clan.

"Help me keep her alive," I said.

The pediatric healer crouched down to meet my eyes:

"I'll do everything I can. But Madam, you must promise me one thing—from now on, do not consume anything that comes from the clan storehouse. Not even water. I'll ask the Head Healer to quarantine your dietary access on grounds of postpartum infection—all your food will come through me personally."

"Done."

He stood up to prepare the medication.

My daughter cried inside the cabinet. I reached in through the gap and let her tiny fingers grip mine.

Her hand was so small. She held on so tightly.

That grip felt like her entire life.

Outside, the moonstone glow dimmed another degree.

The eclipse was not yet over.

That night, Axel came to the nursery.

He stood at the door, not entering, watching me sit by the bed holding my daughter while I fed her medicine.

She was feverish and groggy; the liquid dribbled down her chin, and I wiped it away with my thumb, again and again.

"How is she?" he asked.

"Still feverish."

"What did the healer say?"

"Observing."

He nodded.

He stood there watching me for a while, then said:

"Leila's child started walking today."

I didn't stop feeding.

"She's only seven days old. His child walks at seven days."

"The Shadow Clan bloodline—"

"Get out."

He paused, turned, and left.

The moment the door closed, my daughter whimpered in her sleep—a soft sound, like a kitten startled by something in a dream.

I held her close and pressed my face to her burning forehead.

Moonstone light seeped through the crack in the door—a thin line, falling on the floor like a closed blade.