Chapter 1

I lay on the hospital bed in the Tower, the IV port on my hand connected to cold fluids.

Kael stood at the foot of the bed, clutching a mental impairment assessment report.

Three hours earlier, I'd just had a miscarriage.

He asked: "Whose child was it?"

I thought he was speaking in anger.

Until his old acquaintance Serena called: "Don't scare her with that face. She's pregnant—if something really happens, you'll be the one hurting in the end."

She paused: "The report's already out. If you want to pretend you didn't see it, I can't stop you."

Kael didn't curse me, nor did he mention unbinding.

He still drove me to work as usual and accompanied me to prenatal checkups.

But every time we came back from a checkup, he would ask: "When are you going to take care of it?"

I told him countless times—the child was his.

But he would hold me and say, with that same gentle tone as before: "Elara, I can pretend this never happened."

"Just let the baby go, and we'll go back to how we were."

Until the tenth week, when I suddenly hemorrhaged.

He arrived at the Tower just as I came out of the operating room.

He stood by the bed, pale as death.

I thought he would finally believe me.

Instead, he asked the healer: "Is the tissue still available? Can we apply for a paternity test?"

I took off the ring on my left ring finger—that ring wasn't just a wedding band; it was the medium through which a Sentinel and Guide channeled spiritual energy after bonding. On the day he put it on me, his fingers had brushed through my hair, and he'd said, "No matter what you sense, I'll be on the other end."

I said: "When the results come out, send me the unbinding agreement."

As for whose child it was—to me, it no longer mattered.

The healer handed me the authorization form.

I flipped to the last page and signed my name.

Kael stared at me, as if he hadn't expected me to be so decisive.

"Elara."

"You sign too." My voice was hoarse, the IV port trembling with my hand: "Sign it and leave. I want to sleep."

Kael sat back down by the bed, pulled the blanket over my exposed feet: "Once the results come out, this will all be over."

I closed my eyes: "Mm. Over."

He must have caught a different meaning—his hand stopped on the blanket edge: "I don't want to unbind with you."

"I do."

"You're not in a good place right now. Don't make impulsive decisions."

That same line again.

Ever since he'd gotten that assessment report, every word I said was dismissed as emotion.

Every question he asked, though, was "being cautious"—just seeking the truth.

After the anesthetic wore off, my lower abdomen throbbed in waves.

I curled up, and Kael immediately pressed the call button, then crouched down to hold my hand: "The healer will be here soon."

Three years into our bond, he was still as gentle as ever.

A Sentinel's body instinctively relies on a Guide's spiritual regulation. In early pregnancy, my moods fluctuated wildly, and he would stay by the bed all night, his palm against the back of my neck, using his spiritual energy to sort through my chaotic perceptions.

Now the child was gone, and he stayed by my side—fixated only on whether its blood carried his own.

When I woke, it was dark. Kael wasn't in the room.

Serena's voice came from outside the door: "Ten weeks—theoretically possible. But for tissue this early, whether we can rule out maternal contamination depends on the sample."

Kael's low voice asked: "So the results might be inaccurate?"

"I can't guarantee anything. She was willing to sign—maybe she's confident. Or maybe she asked around first and knows this test might not be conclusive. Don't let her talk you back around before the results even come out."

Kael was quiet for a long time before answering: "She just lost the baby. Don't talk about her like that."

"Fine. I'm meddling." Serena gave a light snort. "All these years, have I ever not warned you when you were about to make a mistake? She sheds two tears, and suddenly I'm the villain!"

The door pushed open.

Serena walked in with an insulated container, saw I was awake, and paused: "You heard?" She didn't pretend—at least she had that going for her.

"I heard."

Serena set down the container and turned to glare at Kael: "I told you to close the door!"

Kael's face darkened: "Go home."

"I spent two hours making this, brought it over, and haven't even had a sip. Fine—I'm in the way."

She reached the door and turned back: "Elara, our lab did look at it twice. You know what Kael's situation is."

I looked her in the eye: "Looking at the same sample once before and once after centrifugation—you call that two checks?"

Serena's expression shifted slightly: "The results were the same. What difference does it make?"

"One sample, looked at twice—and you call it two tests." I stared at her. "Kael believed you, decided I'd cheated, and wouldn't even acknowledge his own child."

Kael steadied my shoulder: "Lie down first." I pushed his hand away.

Serena stood by the door, biting her lip: "I was trying to help you both. If you want to treat me like an enemy, fine—suit yourself!"

"Serena." Kael called after her. "Send me the full report."

She shot him a glare: "I already did. You didn't read it—who's to blame?" The door slammed shut.

Kael pulled up the image Serena had sent—it cut off at "Mental link shows abnormality." Whether there was more text below, he couldn't see.

He set his communicator down: "I'll go get it myself tomorrow."

"Why not today?"

He looked at me and said nothing.

Because today he'd already made up his mind. His wife was pregnant, her Guide conduction was abnormal—what was there left to double-check?