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"Her temperature is still elevated," Dr. Sarah Knowles murmurs, pressing her stethoscope to Maisie's back. "Deep breath, sweetie."

Maisie complies, sitting perfectly still on the examination table while the pack healer conducts her assessment. I watch from the corner chair, my hands clenched in my lap, fighting to keep my expression neutral while my heart pounds with anxiety.

"And you said she just turned four?" Dr. Knowles asks, making notes on her tablet.

"That's right," I lie smoothly, the falsehood bitter on my tongue. "In August."

The healer frowns, checking something on her screen.

"The symptoms you've described—elevated temperature, amber eye flashes, restless sleep—they're consistent with early manifestation.

But at four years old..." She trails off, shaking her head.

"I've only seen two cases of manifestation before age five in my fifteen years of practice. Both involved powerful bloodlines."

My stomach clenches. "Is that... concerning?"

"Not dangerous, necessarily. But highly unusual, especially knowing you have… prominent human blood, if I remember correctly. With a human grandfather, this isn’t typical at all.

" Dr. Knowles turns to Maisie with a gentle smile.

"Maisie, have you been having any dreams about running or changing shape? "

"Sometimes," Maisie says, swinging her legs. "I dream I'm a wolf with brown fur and black paws. I run really fast through the trees."

"And how do you feel when you wake up from these dreams?"

"Happy. But also sad because I'm not a wolf anymore." Maisie looks at me with those too-bright eyes. "Mama says someday I might be able to shift like her."

"Your mama's right," Dr. Knowles says kindly. "Though usually, these changes happen when kids are older. Can you tell me anything about your daddy? About his family?"

Maisie's face scrunches in concentration. "Mama says he's not around. I don’t know him. But I sometimes think I do.”

The words send ice through my veins. Dr. Knowles glances at me with raised eyebrows, and I force a laugh.

"Children and their imaginations," I say lightly. "She's always been very creative."

"Mm." The healer makes another note. "Fiona, do you know anything about the father's lineage? Strong shifter blood could explain the early manifestation."

"We're not in contact," I reply carefully. "And it was... brief. I don't know much about his family history."

It's not entirely a lie. Thomas and I never discussed the deeper details of his bloodline, though I know the Ennes family has always produced powerful wolves.

His father was the last right-hand of the pack, before James took the position, and his grandfather before that.

Strong alpha blood runs in his veins—blood that's apparently expressing itself early in our daughter.

"Well," Dr. Knowles says, helping Maisie down from the table, "I'm going to prescribe some mild suppressants to help with the temperature fluctuations. They won't stop manifestation, but they'll make Maisie more comfortable during the process."

"How long will this last?" I ask.

"Hard to say. With early manifestation, the timeline can be unpredictable.

Some children experience symptoms for months before their first shift.

Others transition much more quickly." She hands me a prescription slip.

"I'd like to see her again next week. And Fiona?

If her symptoms intensify suddenly—especially if she attempts to shift—bring her in immediately. "

My blood runs cold. "She could try to shift? This soon?”

"At her development rate? It's possible. Though extremely rare and potentially dangerous for such a young child." Dr. Knowles' expression grows serious. "Promise me you'll watch her carefully."

"Of course," I manage, taking Maisie's hand. "Thank you, Doctor."

We leave the clinic with more questions than answers and a prescription that feels like a ticking time bomb. Maisie chatters happily about the stethoscope and the colorful charts on the walls, blissfully unaware of my growing panic.

***

"She'll be fine with me," Luna assures me as I drop Maisie off for overnight care the following evening, prior to the second Trial. "Nic's already planning to show her his collection of geological surveys. Something about rock formations and mineral deposits."

"That sounds appropriately boring," I say, kissing Maisie's forehead. "Be good for Luna, Sweet Pea."

"I will, Mama. Are you going camping with Thomas?"

"Something like that." I ruffle her curls, noting they're still warmer than they should be despite the suppressants. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Luna walks me to the door, her expression thoughtful. "She's been asking a lot of questions about shifting lately. Very specific questions for someone her age."

"She's curious about everything," I deflect. "Always has been."

Luna's eyes are kind but probing. "Is everything alright, Fiona?"

"Everything's fine," I lie. "Just the usual challenges of raising a precocious child." And then: “She’s four. They all ask a lot of questions.”

Luna smiles. I can tell she doesn’t believe me.”

But as I walk through Silvercreek toward the trial staging area, Luna's words echo in my mind.

Maisie is asking personal questions because manifestation is personal—it's her body preparing for changes that shouldn't be happening for years.

And every day that passes brings us closer to the moment when her resemblance to Thomas becomes undeniable.

The staging area is quieter than I expected when I arrive.

Just a handful of wolves I don’t know checking gear and preparing the transport truck for us.

Thomas stands near the vehicle, his expression unreadable when he sees me approach, blonde hair slightly damp from a recent shower. I can’t look him in the eyes.

We haven't spoken since the incident at the training ground two days ago. Since the kiss that shattered every wall I'd built around my heart and left me more confused than ever. He tried to organize more training. I refused.

And now, I have to be alone with him for a full night.

"Fiona, Thomas," Elder Amelia calls, her voice cutting through the evening air.

"Ready for your second trial? This challenge tests your ability to survive and work together under demanding conditions.

You'll be transported to a remote section of our territory and left with basic supplies.

Successful completion requires both of you to return by dawn. "

She outlines the rules—no outside assistance, no communication devices, basic first aid supplies, and emergency rations only. The temperature is expected to drop significantly overnight, making shelter and warmth management critical.

"Any questions?" Amelia asks.

Thomas raises his hand. "What constitutes successful completion if one partner becomes injured or unable to continue?"

"Both partners must return safely. However, the methods and timeline are left to your discretion." Amelia’s eyes find mine briefly. "The goal is partnership, not individual survival. You need to learn how to lean on one another.”

Ha. Fat chance.

Far too soon, the truck drops us deep in the northern forest as the sun begins its descent toward the horizon. Thomas and I stand in a small clearing surrounded by towering pines, the silence between us thick with unresolved tension.

"We should survey the area," he says finally, shouldering his pack. "Find water, assess shelter options."

I nod, grateful for something concrete to focus on. "I'll check for edible plants while you scout."

We move through the forest with practiced efficiency, years of wilderness experience overriding personal complications. Thomas identifies a nearby stream and several potential shelter sites, while I locate wild onions and late-season berries that could supplement our rations.

The work feels familiar, comfortable even. Like the old days when we'd spend entire weekends in the woods, just the two of us and the endless green silence. But those memories are dangerous territory, so I push them away and focus on the tasks at hand.

"Here," Thomas says, stopping near a rocky outcropping that offers wind protection. "Good drainage, proximity to water, natural windbreak."

"It'll work," I agree, dropping my pack. "We'll need a lot of insulation. Temperature's supposed to drop below freezing."

We build the shelter in relative silence, gathering deadfall and pine boughs to construct a lean-to against the rocks. The work requires coordination—holding branches while the other secures them, passing materials back and forth, adjusting the structure until it's sound.

Despite our emotional distance, we move together seamlessly.

Our bodies remember this dance, this partnership that was forged in countless nights like this one.

When Thomas's fingers brush mine as he hands me a rope, electricity shoots up my arm.

When I lean across him to secure a support beam, his sharp intake of breath tells me he feels it, too.

By the time we finish, full darkness has fallen, and the temperature has dropped noticeably. Our breath forms clouds in the frigid air as we build a small fire outside the shelter.

"Trail mix or energy bars?" Thomas asks, digging through the rations.

"Doesn't matter." I settle on a log near the fire, pulling my jacket tighter. "Food is food."

He hands me a granola bar and takes a seat on the opposite side of the fire pit, maintaining careful distance. We eat in silence, the only sounds the crackling flames and distant calls of night birds.

"Storm's coming in," Thomas observes, nodding toward the cloudy sky. "We should probably move into the shelter soon."