The Results

Chapter 27

Sable's hands weren't steady when she set the file on the table between us.

That frightened me more than anything she could have said.

Roman noticed it too. His jaw tightened, and his attention shifted from the file to her face.

"Tell us," he said.

Sable pulled out a chair but didn't sit.

"Your bloodline markers match a pattern documented in the oldest surviving texts."

I stared at her.

"Stop talking around it. What am I?"

She met my eyes.

"Mira, I believe you're Moonborn."

The word struck me with the force of a physical blow.

"Not descended from it," she continued. "Not carrying a trace of it through an ordinary ancestral line. Your markers match the pattern described in the historical accounts."

Nobody spoke.

I looked at the file.

"Run it again."

"I did."

"Then do it again."

"Mira"

"Samples get mixed up. Labels get swapped. Tests produce errors."

"I understand."

"Do you?"

My voice broke on the last word.

Sable's expression softened, but she didn't retreat from what she'd told me.

"I repeated the analysis four times using separate samples and two different methods. The results were consistent."

"Then the old texts are wrong."

"They could be incomplete. Some of their claims may be inaccurate. But the marker pattern itself is present in your sample."

Roman opened the file.

"Any possibility of contamination?"

"Not based on the checks I've completed."

"An independent laboratory?"

"That would be reasonable for confirmation. But I don't believe contamination explains these results."

She swallowed.

"I'm sorry, Mira. I wish I could give you a simpler answer."

I stared at the page bearing my name.

Rows of numbers.

Technical notes.

A conclusion that had somehow turned my entire life into something unfamiliar.

"So I'm not descended from them," I whispered.

"The results identify a pattern that the texts classify as Moonborn. They don't support the ordinary-descendant explanation we considered."

"What does that mean for me?"

Sable opened her mouth.

Roman spoke first.

"Who has seen these results?"

She blinked.

"Only me."

"Who knows about the archived texts?"

"A handful of people helped recover them, but they don't know the details of your results."

"Can anyone access the report?"

"Not without authorization."

"Then I want the clinic's access records reviewed. I want to know who has handled the files and whether anyone has attempted to obtain Mira's medical information."

"Roman"

"And her appointments need additional security."

I turned toward him.

"Can either of you stop talking about protecting me long enough to explain what this means for me?"

Roman fell silent.

I pushed the file away.

"I've just been told that I am something the surviving records say hasn't appeared in centuries. I don't know what that means, whether it changes anything about me, or what might happen next. And you're already deciding who gets access to me."

"That's not what I'm doing."

"It's exactly what it sounds like."

His hand curled against the table.

"If the wrong person discovers this"

"Then we'll deal with it. Together. But I won't have decisions made about my life while I'm sitting right in front of you."

Silence settled over the room.

Then Roman looked down at his hand.

"I did it again."

"You did."

He exhaled slowly.

"All right. Ask your questions. I'll listen."

I turned back to Sable.

"Go on. What else did you find?"

She drew the report toward her and pointed to a line near the bottom.

"There's another result I wasn't expecting. The pattern isn't simply present in your sample. The markers appear to be actively expressed."

"Actively expressed?" Roman repeated.

"In the surviving texts, similar markers are sometimes described as dormant in descendants. Your results don't fit that description."

"Why not?"

"I don't know."

"Why now?" I asked.

"I don't know that either."

I closed my eyes briefly.

Every answer seemed to lead to another question.

"Is it dangerous?"

"I can't establish that from these results."

"Then what aren't you telling us?"

Sable looked exhausted.

"That there's very little reliable information about living Moonborn individuals. The surviving accounts are fragments, and the manuscript we recovered was already incomplete."

She tapped the report.

"We have evidence that your markers match the documented pattern. We have evidence that they're expressed. But we don't have enough information to determine what that means for your abilities, your health, or your future."

I put a hand over my stomach.

My baby.

The thought had been waiting at the edge of every question.

"What does this mean for my child?"

Roman's hand found mine.

Sable's voice softened.

"Some historical passages suggest that a child born to a Moonborn mother may inherit aspects of the bloodline. One fragment refers to the inheritance becoming more pronounced in the next generation."

"More pronounced how?"

"The text doesn't explain."

"Could it hurt my baby?"

"I don't have evidence that it will. I also can't guarantee that there are no implications we haven't discovered."

My throat tightened.

"Could the baby develop the same markers?"

"That's possible, but we haven't tested for that, and I won't speculate beyond what the evidence supports."

"Could the baby have abilities?"

"The historical accounts raise that possibility. They don't establish it as a medical fact."

I looked at the file again.

I could live with uncertainty.

What frightened me was the possibility that other people already had answers they were keeping from me.

"Then we investigate," I said. "We find out what this means for the baby without making assumptions."

"I agree," Sable said. "I can arrange appropriate prenatal monitoring and consult specialists about the safest way to investigate the questions raised by these findings."

"What do you need from me?"

"Your consent for any additional procedures. And time to examine the original manuscript."

"Good."

Sable held my gaze.

"You decide what tests you're comfortable with. I'll explain the purpose and limitations of each one before we proceed."

"That's how it's going to be."

Roman didn't argue.

He only turned my hand over in his and held it.

"Whatever this means," he said quietly, "it doesn't change how I see you."

A cracked laugh escaped me.

"You don't know that."

"I know you."

"What if I'm dangerous? What if this bloodline changes something about me?"

"Then we learn what that means."

"What if everyone starts looking at me differently? Including your pack?"

He didn't offer me a comforting lie.

"They might."

I stared at him.

"That's not very reassuring."

"I won't pretend things can't change. I can't promise everyone will understand." His thumb moved across my knuckles. "But I won't treat you like a specimen. Or a weapon. Or something to trade. You're not a problem for me to manage, Mira. You're you."

My eyes stung.

"That's the first thing you've said all morning that I believe."

He didn't look away.

"Then I'll keep giving you reasons to believe me."

For once, I didn't have an answer.

I simply held his hand.

Sable cleared her throat.

"There's one more thing you need to understand about the historical records."

I turned toward her.

"The last confirmed Moonborn individual in the surviving historical record died more than three hundred years ago."

The room seemed to contract around me.

"Three hundred years?"

"That's the last confirmed account I've found. There may have been others, but the surviving records don't establish that."

"Then how can I be Moonborn?"

"I don't know. The historical accounts don't provide a complete explanation of what happened to the bloodline. There are substantial gaps."

Roman's expression hardened.

"And what happened to those who carried it?"

Sable hesitated.

"The accounts don't describe them as ordinary members of their packs. They appear to have held a distinctive place in the old order."

"Distinctive how?" I asked.

"That's difficult to establish. Some passages suggest they were revered. Others suggest they were feared."

"By whom?"

"The surviving text doesn't say."

Roman went very still.

I knew that expression. He was already thinking about the consequences, about the people who might want to control what they couldn't understand.

I didn't want to become another problem he solved by closing every door around me.

"Tell me the rest," I said.

Sable looked at the report.

"The text doesn't only discuss the Moonborn bloodline. It also mentions a Moonborn heir."

The word dropped into the room like a stone.

"An heir," I repeated.

"Yes. The references are incomplete, but the surviving passages refer to an heir in a way that suggests a special position within the old order."

"An heir to what?"

"I can't say."

"A kingdom?"

"The passage doesn't establish that."

"A title?"

"Possibly. But I won't tell you it's a crown or a throne when we don't have evidence for either."

I appreciated her honesty.

I hated how little it gave me.

"Why was the heir feared?"

"That part of the account is missing."

"Of course it is."

Sable reached into the folder and removed a brittle page protected by a transparent sleeve.

She laid it on the table.

The manuscript had been preserved carefully. Its ink had faded, and the paper had darkened with age. Near the binding, however, a ragged strip remained where another section had once been attached.

I leaned closer.

"The pages were cut out."

"Yes," Sable said. "The surviving copy is missing material. I can't tell you whether it happened before the manuscript entered the archive or afterward."

"Could those pages have explained the heir?"

"They might have."

"Could they have explained why the bloodline disappeared from the records?"

"They might have explained part of it."

I stared at the empty space.

Every time we uncovered something, the truth seemed to retreat another step.

Roman's gaze sharpened.

"Who had access to this manuscript before you?"

"Roman," I said.

He turned toward me.

"Don't. Not yet."

"I'm asking a question."

"You're preparing to turn this room into a security operation before we've even established what the missing pages contained."

His mouth tightened.

I held his gaze.

"If we find evidence that someone is threatening us, we'll investigate. But I won't have everyone treated as a suspect because we're frightened."

He was silent for a moment.

Then he nodded.

"All right. Let me ask it differently. Can we establish who handled the manuscript before you received it?"

Sable considered the question.

"I can review the archive's access records. I can't promise they'll identify everyone who handled it."

"Then start there," I said. "Both of us get the findings."

"Both of you," she agreed.

She gathered the remaining documents.

"I'll continue examining the manuscript and arrange the appropriate follow-up tests. I'll bring you the evidence as I find it, including anything that contradicts our current understanding."

"Thank you," I said.

Sable left the room.

The door clicked shut behind her.

For several seconds, neither Roman nor I spoke.

Feared.

The word sat in my chest like ice.

I'd expected to feel powerful. Chosen. Relieved to finally understand why my life had never felt quite like my own.

Instead, I felt as though I'd stepped into a story that had been written long before I was born, by people whose names I didn't know.

An heir didn't have to mean a crown.

It could mean someone had looked at a person and decided her existence threatened everything they wanted to control.

And if that fear had survived three hundred years, my child might one day inherit more than my blood.

"Roman."

He looked at me.

"Sable said the manuscript was incomplete before she examined it."

"Yes."

"But we don't know when the pages were removed."

"No."

I looked toward the closed door.

"Someone cut them out. Someone decided those words shouldn't survive."

"Possibly," Roman said. "But we need to establish when the damage occurred before we can know whether it was deliberate concealment or something else."

I nodded.

That was the difference I was trying to learn to live with.

Fear could suggest a possibility.

It couldn't turn that possibility into the truth.

Roman reached for the transparent sleeve and lifted it carefully.

"Mira."

Something in his voice made me lean forward.

"Look at the edge of the cut."

I moved closer.

The missing section had left a ragged edge along the binding. At first, I saw only damaged paper.

Then I noticed the fibers.

They were lighter than the surrounding material, with a roughness that didn't match the wear on the rest of the manuscript.

Roman turned the sleeve slightly so the light fell across it.

"That damage doesn't look consistent with the rest of the page," he said.

My heartbeat quickened.

"Can you tell how old it is?"

"No. Not from looking at it."

I stared at the torn edge.

Three hundred years of silence.

A bloodline absent from the surviving records.

An heir described in fragments.

And pages that might have explained what happened, now missing from the only manuscript we had found.

I swallowed.

"If those pages were removed recently, someone might know what they say."

Roman's expression turned grave.

"Or someone might know what they don't want us to read."

I looked at the empty strip of binding.

For the first time, I understood that finding the truth about my bloodline might not be the end of the mystery.

It might be the reason someone had started watching me.

And whoever that person was, I needed to know whether they feared what I was becoming or what they believed I had always been.