Serena? Never.
Then one morning, I woke late, tangled between Skye and Vinny, and realized I felt fine.
No pain. No nausea. For the first time in weeks, I was hungry.
That was how I knew something was wrong.
I tried not to spiral. Maybe Violet felt better. Maybe the drug trial had failed. Maybe it had cleared her system.
I clung to that belief long enough to brew espresso before checking on Serena.
She hadn’t moved all night.
“Morning,” I said softly.
Shedidn’t respond.
The curtains were drawn. The only illumination came from the monitor’s glow, painting Serena’s face in a sickly light.
I had never watched the feed.
I told myself I was more useful elsewhere, cooking, cleaning, keeping Skye preoccupied, helping Vinny plan something that didn’t involve charging the gates like a martyr.
The truth?
I wasafraid.
If what I felt through the bond was even a fraction of what Violet endured, I didn’t want to see it.
But that morning, I couldn’t feel her at all.
“Serena,” I tried again.
Nothing.
She stared at the screen like a starving animal. I moved behind her and looked.
At first, everything seemed almost normal.
The camera angle was poor. Violet stood with her head bowed, dark hair curtaining her face.
“Stand up straight,” Logan’s voice echoed through the speakers. “The tailor will be here soon. It’ll be humiliating if Mrs. Stellar can’t even hold herself upright. You’repregnant, notdying.”
She tried.
God, she tried.
Her shoulders lifted, but the weight in front of her dragged her forward again.
She was naked except for her glasses, and everything else about her was wrong.
Before she was taken, she’d only just begun to show. A soft swell. Subtle. Something that fit perfectly beneath her palm.
Now?
She dwarfed Skye.
Her abdomen was grotesquely distended, skin stretched so tight it shone. Angry pink striations webbed across it where her body had been forced to expand too fast.
