The other shoe dropped on a Thursday.
Not a crisis. Not a threat. Not Crone's network or a pack council motion or a journalist or anyone I had built defenses against.
The other shoe was Sera.
She called at noon while I was between patients, which was when she always called — Sera understood hospital schedules the way she understood financial documents, which was completely and with attention to timing.
"I'm pregnant," she said.
I sat down.
On the break room floor.
Bettany appeared in the doorway, took one look at me, and wordlessly closed the door.
"How long?" I said.
"Eight weeks," she said. "I've been—" She stopped. "I've been sitting with it. Making sure." A pause. "Draven knows. He's been—" She laughed. A small, surprised version. "He's been extremely calm about it in the spec
