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The cramp hits me while I'm staring at my own death certificate.
I press one hand against the edge of the metal desk and breathe through my teeth. The clinic smells like burnt coffee and disinfectant. Rena's got her back to me, feeding papers into a shredder that sounds like it's chewing bones. She doesn't notice I'm about to pass out.
The pain fades. I look down at the document again.
Ivy Grace. Date of death: four months ago. Cause: vehicle accident, body unrecoverable.
It's perfect. It's also terrifying.
"You good?" Rena finally turns around. She's older than me, maybe forty, with short gray hair and the kind of steady hands you only get from cutting people open. She pushes a brown envelope across the desk. "That's everything. New ID, birth certificate, work history. You're Cara Dunn now. Boring human with boring credit."
I pick up the envelope. My hands shake a little. "How much?"
"We'll call it even after you help with the supply run next month." She leans back against the counter, arms crossed. "You sure about this? Once you're dead, you can't come back. Not unless you want the alliance to know you faked it."
"I'm sure."
She studies me for a long moment. Then she nods at my stomach. "How far along?"
"Twenty weeks." I don't meet her eyes. "Give or take."
"And the father?"
"Dead." The lie comes out smooth. I've practiced it. "Car accident. Same one that was supposed to kill me."
Rena doesn't buy it. I can tell by the way her mouth tightens. But she doesn't push. That's why I came to her. The underground network doesn't ask questions you don't want to answer.
"You need to eat more," she says instead. "You're too thin. That kid's going to come early if you don't take care of yourself."
I shove the envelope into my jacket. "I'm fine."
"You're not. But you will be." She moves toward the door, unlocks it. "Go out the back. There's been alliance scouts sniffing around the north side all week. They're looking for someone."
My stomach drops. "Who?"
"Don't know. Don't care." She opens the door a crack and checks the alley. "But if you're running from them, stay low. They're not playing around this time."
I slip past her into the cold air. It's late afternoon, but the sky's already going dark. Winter comes fast this close to the border. I pull my hood up and start walking.
The alley's empty. That should make me feel better, but it doesn't. I've been running long enough to know that empty streets just mean the danger's hiding.
I make it two blocks before I smell them.
Wolves. Not shifted, but close enough that the scent bleeds through. Sweat and adrenaline and that sharp metallic edge that comes right before violence. My bloodline woke up four months ago, but it's still new enough that every instinct feels like it's screaming in a language I barely understand.
I duck into a doorway and press my back against the brick. My heart's pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
They're close. Maybe a street over. Maybe less.
I should keep moving. But my legs won't cooperate. The baby shifts inside me, a rolling flutter that makes me want to cry and vomit at the same time. If they catch me, they won't just take me back. They'll cut the kid out and raise it in the alliance. Another tool. Another weapon.
Another me.
I hear footsteps. Two sets, maybe three. They're not trying to be quiet.
"She was seen near the clinic," a man's voice says. "Rena's place. You know the one."
"Rena doesn't talk." A second voice, younger. "We've tried."
"Then we make her." The first man laughs. It's not a nice sound. "Boss wants the girl back before she drops the kid. After that, he doesn't care what happens to her."
My hands curl into fists. I can't fight them. I'm not strong enough yet. My bloodline's awake, but it's still a mess. Half the time I can't tell if I'm going to shift or just pass out.
I need to run.
I step out of the doorway and start moving in the opposite direction. My boots are too loud on the wet pavement. I try to soften my steps, but it's too late.
"There!"
I run.
The alley spills out onto a wider street, and I cut left without thinking. There are people here, a few of them, hunched against the cold as they walk. I try to blend in, but I know it's useless. They can smell me. They know what I am.
I hear them behind me, closing the distance. I'm not fast enough. I'm too tired, too hungry, too pregnant.
I turn a corner and nearly slam into a chain-link fence. Dead end. No. No no no.
I spin around. The two men step into the alley behind me. They're big, both of them, with the kind of build that says they've been shifting since they were kids. The older one grins. His teeth are too sharp.
"Easy now," he says, like I'm a spooked horse. "We're just here to bring you home."
"I don't have a home." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "You made sure of that."
"You signed a contract." He takes a step closer. "That makes you alliance property. You and the kid."
"The kid's mine."
"Not for long."
He moves fast. I try to dodge, but he catches my arm and slams me back against the fence. The metal rattles. My vision blurs for a second, and then I feel his hand on my stomach.
"It's still alive," he says, like he's checking a package. "Good. Boss'll be happy."
I try to jerk away, but he's too strong. The younger one moves in on my other side. I can't breathe. Can't think.
And then he's gone.
The older man flies backward like someone yanked him on a leash. He hits the opposite wall with a crack that echoes down the alley. The younger one freezes, his eyes wide.
There's someone standing between us now.
A man. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a jacket that's seen better days. His hair's dark, tied back, and his face is hard in a way that makes my bloodline sit up and pay attention. He doesn't say anything. Doesn't even look at the two alliance wolves.
He just stands there.
The older man groans and pushes himself up. Blood trickles from his nose. "Who the hell are you?"
The man doesn't answer. He can't, I realize. There's something wrong with the way he holds himself, the way his jaw stays locked.
Mute.
The younger wolf pulls a knife. "Get out of the way. This isn't your business."
The silent man moves so fast I almost miss it. One second the knife's in the wolf's hand. The next it's clattering across the pavement and the wolf's on his knees, clutching his wrist.
The older man swears and backs up a step. "You're going to regret that."
The silent man doesn't move. He just watches them with pale eyes that don't blink.
The two wolves look at each other. Then they turn and run.
I stay pressed against the fence, trying to remember how to breathe. The man still hasn't moved. He's just standing there, his back to me, like he's waiting to make sure they're really gone.
Finally, he turns around.
And looks straight at my stomach.
His eyes narrow. Not angry. Not curious. Something else. Something that makes my skin crawl and my bloodline scream at me to run.
He knows.
He can smell what I'm carrying. And he knows exactly what it means.