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“I am… pissed,” she says, brushing past me into the kitchen.

I blink after her, slowly shutting the door as I try to process what’s happening.

“I can see that. What’s going on?”

“You need to sit down.”

That does nothing to ease the tension knotting my shoulders or the headache forming behind my eyes, but I pull out a chair anyway, my stomach turning leaden.

“You’re scaring me, Mon.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” she says, slapping the folder onto the counter but not taking her hands off of it as if it’s an adder and might strike at any moment. “And honestly, you should be.”

“What are you talking about, Mon?” I ask, my throat clenching so tight I have to force each word out individually.

She closes her eyes, inhales deeply, holds it. Exhales slowly, then opens them again, fingers tapping the folder between us. Finally she flips it open and jabs the top piece of paper with her index finger.

“It’s your mother,” she says, her voice flat.

“What about her?” I ask, sinking into the chair because my knees feel wobbly.

“This is her medical chart. The progression of her illness,” she says, pointing again. “It all looks natural—textbook, even. I’ve seen patients deteriorate much faster.”

“Then why are you so upset?” I ask, voice cracking.

She doesn’t answer—just slides her finger to the header at the top of the page, stopping on a bold type set of words.

Cause of death: heart failure.

The words hit with the force of a gut-shot. My fingers seize the edge of the table as the room pitches around me.

“I cashed in one of my last favors to get this from Metro General,” she says, voice tight. “They treated it like top-secret government intel, but someone owed me. I got it.”

“Mon, explain,” I croak, my throat too dry.

“When Catherine first saw Dr. Simon Baker, he diagnosed arrhythmia. Irregular heartbeat. Scary—but treatable. He put her on medication. Nothing worked. No matter what he tried. So he dug deeper.”

I lean in, everything inside me taut and coiled. “And? What did he find?”

“Her blood, Stacy.” Monica’s eyes gleam with dread. “It wasn’t human. Not fully. It had something else—foreign, but bonded.Something human blood should reject, but hers accepted like it belonged. Baker ran the tests six times.”

A chill slides down my spine. I blink and it feels like it’s happening in slow motion.

“Did he figure out what it was?” I whisper.

She shakes her head, slow and grim.

“No. He didn’t. But I did.” Monica leans in. “Because I’ve seen it before—in Raul’s blood. That same anomaly. The same… wolf signature.”

“Mon… what?”

She reaches across the counter, taking both my hands and squeezing them tightly.

“It’s the wolf, Stacy.” Monica’s voice wavers. “Your mom… she was a shifter. Leaving your dad didn’t just hurt her—it killed her.”

I flinch so hard it feels like I’ve been struck. “Oh my God…”

I collapse onto the counter, cradling my head between my hands. Her words echo through me, colliding with memories of my mother—every quiet sigh, every ache she brushed off.