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“No pressure,” she says. “While you’re pregnant, there’s zero expectation. Zero. You heal. You rest. You grow that pup. If and when you’re ready, Silver Moon will help you find where you belong.”

“Thank you.” My throat tightens. “I’d like some time to think too.”

“Take all the time you need.”

The school materializes through the glass doors again... the courtyard, the playground, the three story building with its warm brick and wide windows. Selena slows.

“Have you given any more thought to Damian and Darlene attending?”

Darian’s eyes find mine. The look lasts half a second. That’s all we need.

“After the introduction ceremony,” I say. “Once they’ve met everyone. Once the bond’s settled.”

“Monday after next,” Darian confirms. “First day.”

“REALLY?” Damian’s voice cracks on the second syllable. He’s already vibrating, both fists clenched at his sides.

“School? Real school? With desks?” Darlene’s eyes are saucers. “And teachers? And... and... ”

“And friends,” Selena says softly.

Darlene launches herself at my leg. Damian grabs Darian’s hand and squeezes so hard his knuckles go white.

“I get to go to school,” Damian breathes. “I get to go to school.”

We walk away from the courtyard, the pups bouncing between us like pinballs, and the bond hums warm and steady behind my sternum.

“What could possibly go wrong?” I say, and the smile on my face is real and bright and completely, devastatingly unguarded.

13

Arlene’s POV

Four days later, and Luna Selena looks like a woman who’s been running a marathon in her sleep.

I find her in the ceremonial clearing five hours before moonrise, a clipboard in one hand, a radio in the other, and her hair pulled into a knot so tight it’s pulling her eyebrows up. Omegas swarm around her, carrying tables, arranging flowers, and stringing lights through the oak branches.

“Table seven goes east of the altar, not west, east, Marcus, the direction the sun comes from, yes, that one, and the lanterns need to be silver, not white, I said silver three times, Martha, three times...”

“Luna.” Martha’s voice comes through the radio with the particular patience of a woman who has been correcting Lunas for thirty two years. “The lanterns are silver. They’ve always been silver. You’re looking at the wrong box.”

Selena stares at the box. Stares at the radio. Stares at the box again.

“Right,” she says. “Carry on.”

I step into her line of sight. Jasmin steps in from the other side, four months pregnant with her dark hair braided down her back. We've spent the last three days together, sharing coffee, walking through the greenhouse, and becoming comfortable with each other's silence.

“Tell us what needs doing,” I say, reaching for the clipboard.

Luna Selena’s head snaps up. The clipboard disappears behind her back so fast it’s like it never existed. “Absolutely not. This is your ceremony too, and both of you are pregnant.”

“We’re delivering messages, Luna Selena, not furniture,” I say.

“Exactly.” Jasmin plucks the radio from Luna Selena’s other hand with the casual authority of a woman who has been stealing things from stubborn people since before either of us were born. “Now tell us what needs to go where.”

Luna Selena opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

“The lanterns are silver,” she says finally, and the surrender in her voice is so complete it’s almost graceful.