REBORN WITH A SSS-CLASS LEVEL WEREWOLF SYSTEM, READY TO BURN

Three Weeks of Silence

It had been three weeks since Trent promised to come back for her.

Daphne Quinn pressed a trembling hand against her swollen stomach as another contraction twisted through her abdomen. Her other hand gripped the edge of the sofa, knuckles whitening beneath her skin.

"Not yet," she whispered. "Please, little one. Just a little longer."

The holographic screen mounted on the opposite wall flickered, replaying the Ascension Trials' final announcement.

TRENT COOPER: F-CLASS TO A-CLASS. OFFICIAL ASCENSION CONFIRMED.

Beneath his photograph, another line appeared.

CITIZENSHIP APPROVED: TWILIGHT CITY.

Daphne stared at the screen until the letters blurred.

He had done it.

After years of being mocked for his defective wolf core, after every failed assessment and every humiliating rejection, Trent had finally escaped Omega City.

He was an A-Class Werewolf now. A man eligible for better housing, better employment, and the kind of medical treatment that didn't require him to empty his savings before a doctor would look at him.

She should have been celebrating.

Instead, she was sitting in a freezing apartment, heavily pregnant, with twelve credits to her name and a pain in her lower abdomen that had been growing worse since dawn.

Another contraction struck.

Daphne doubled over, biting her lip to keep from crying out. Something pressed painfully against her pelvis. She had experienced enough false alarms during the previous week to recognize the difference.

This wasn't another false alarm.

Her baby was coming.

"Oh, no."

She pushed herself upright, reaching for the small communication device on the table. Her fingers shook as she activated Trent's contact.

The screen displayed his photograph.

She called.

RECIPIENT UNAVAILABLE.

She tried again.

The same message appeared.

Daphne swallowed and opened the last voice message he had sent her, recorded on the morning of his departure.

His face appeared above the device, younger somehow, with the familiar crooked smile that had once made her forget every miserable thing about their lives.

"Three days, Daph. That's all I'm asking. When I win, I'll come straight back. We'll get you into Twilight City, find a proper apartment, and give our baby the life we always talked about. You won't have to struggle anymore. I promise."

He had kissed her forehead after saying that.

Then he had pressed her hand against his chest and told her she was the reason he had a chance at all.

Daphne closed the recording.

"He'll come," she whispered, although nobody was there to hear her. "He promised."

She had to believe that. Even if three weeks had passed since he made that promise.

Because if she didn't, she would have to think about the possibility that she had destroyed her own future for nothing.

The Omega clinic had thrown her out that morning. Daphne could still hear the receptionist's bored voice.

"Your credits are insufficient. We don't provide emergency obstetric care without payment authorization."

"But I'm in my final weeks."

"Then you should have arranged your finances earlier."

"I have twelve credits. Please, just examine me. I'll find the rest."

The woman had glanced at Daphne's faded F-Class identification before looking away.

"Next patient."

Daphne had stood there for several seconds, waiting for somebody to reconsider. Nobody had.

She had walked home with one hand beneath her stomach and the other pressed against the wall whenever her legs threatened to give way.

Now, with the afternoon light fading behind the apartment's dirty windows, she struggled to her feet.

She needed help and she needed a doctor.

And, more than anything, she needed Trent.

A violent pounding rattled the front door making Daphne flinched.

"Who is it?"

"Open up. Debt enforcement."

Her stomach tightened for an entirely different reason. She unlocked the door, keeping one hand protectively over her belly.

Three men stood in the corridor. Their gray uniforms bore the insignia of a private credit recovery agency. The man in front held a holographic tablet, his expression suggesting that he had already decided she was wasting his time.

"Daphne Quinn?"

"Yes."

"Trent Cooper's registered guarantor?"

She blinked. "What?"

The man tilted his tablet toward her. A contract appeared, complete with Trent's biometric signature and a second signature bearing her name.

Her mouth went dry.

"That can't be right."

"Your signature says otherwise."

"I never agreed to guarantee a loan."

"Your biometric authorization was recorded four months ago."

Four months ago.

Trent had asked her to complete some documents connected to his training registration. He'd explained that the forms were routine administrative requirements for candidates hoping to enter the Ascension Trials.

She remembered sitting beside him at their kitchen table while he guided her through the screens.

Just sign here, Daph. It's boring paperwork.

She had trusted him.

"What loan?" she asked.

"Training expenses, equipment rental, and genetic stabilization fees. The principal remains unpaid, along with accrued charges."

"But he won the Trials! He's an A-Class now. He can pay you."

"That is a matter between us and our debtor. Your guarantor liability remains active."

The man stepped past her.

"Wait! You can't just come inside!"

His colleagues followed him.

One scanned the room while another began tagging her belongings with digital seizure notices.

Daphne hurried after them.

"Please. I need those things. My baby is coming."

"Then you should settle the outstanding balance."

They marked the television first.

Then the refrigerator.

Daphne grabbed the door of the fridge when one of the men began disconnecting its power supply.

"Please don't take that. I have food in there."

"Move."

"I said please!"

The man pulled at the refrigerator. Daphne held on, but her legs were already shaking from the contractions.

"Lady, I don't want to hurt you. Let go."

"I have nowhere else to keep my food!"

He looked at her stomach, then back at her face.

For a moment, she thought he might relent.

Instead, he removed her fingers from the handle one by one.

"Not my decision."

The refrigerator was wheeled out.

They took the television next, then her sofa. Daphne followed them from one room to another, pleading until her throat hurt.

When they approached the heater, she stepped in front of it.

"No."

The man carrying the seizure tag sighed.

"You're making this harder than it needs to be."

"Take anything else. Just leave the heater."

"It's registered under the debtor's household assets."

"It's the middle of the night before morning in here! I'm pregnant!"

"Then call someone who can help you."

Daphne stared at him.

The man reached around her for the heater. She caught his wrist.

"Don't you dare."

He pulled free, his patience finally snapping.

"Get out of the way."

When she refused, he shoved her shoulder. Daphne stumbled but caught herself against the wall.

"Stop!" she shouted.

He turned, his face hardening. Then his boot struck her stomach. Pain exploded through her body.

Daphne folded around her belly, a strangled cry escaping her lips as she hit the floor. For one terrible second, she couldn't breathe.

Her hands flew to her abdomen.

"No. No, no, no..."

The room tilted.

She tried to crawl toward the door, but her arms gave way beneath her. The last thing she heard was someone muttering that she should have stayed out of the way.

Then everything went black.