72

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, pulling her into his arms before leaping through the window into the cool night air. He hit the ground and started sprinting with her clutched in his arms.

As he ran, my vision finally cleared of that staticky haze, but he was moving so fast, I couldn’t tell where exactly we were. The most I could tell was that the land smelled like King territory.

The minute I realized this, I understood that this was the night my mother died. I wasn’t expecting to see it so soon, and I didn’t know if I was ready to see what had happened. At the same time, I knew I couldn’t look away. I needed to know what had happened to them. I owed them that much.

My father sprinted into the woods, with King wolves not far behind. My mother cried out as pain rammed into her, her muscles contracting. Her water had broken, and her body throbbed as the baby—me—started to push through. I wished I could tell myself to hold off. This was the worst time to go into labor, but the stress of the si