Lahat ng Kabanata ng His Luna Returned—So I Left With His Baby”: Kabanata 61 - Kabanata 70

Daire didn’t speak in the car.He drove like the street had insulted him, hands white on the wheel, eyes fixed straight ahead. The city slid by in a smear of light and wet pavement.Elowen sat in the passenger seat, white dress neat as armor, sleeves still hiding the silver in her wrist. Her head had cleared halfway down the block from the salon. The dizziness was gone. The anger wasn’t.They stopped at a light. His jaw flexed.“You’re shaking,” he said finally, voice rough. “You nearly went down in there.”“I didn’t,” she said. “You caught me.”“That’s not the metric,” he snapped. “The metric is that I walked you into a room designed to break you and then watched Calista lean over your bones and call it perfect.”“Not my bones,” she said. “My performance.”He made a low, disbelieving sound. “That’s worse.”She turned her head, studying his profile. “You’re furious,” she said. “At them. At yourself. At me.”“Not at you,” he said immediately.She arched a brow. “You’re angry. I insiste

Arx Storage did not look like a place that held the bones of empires.From the outside, it was just another aging data center by the freight yards—square concrete, tinted glass, and a faded sign that read **ARX ARCHIVAL SOLUTIONS**. Trucks trundled by on distant roads. A single security light flickered above the loading bay.Kieran killed the van’s headlights a block away.“Last chance to pretend we’re reasonable,” he said quietly.“No fun in that,” Rae murmured from the back, checking the feed on her tablet. “Cams are looping on a thirty-second delay. You’ve got a window.”Daire looked at Elowen.She met his gaze, steady. Sleeves down. Hair braided back. No white dress tonight—just dark, practical clothes that wouldn’t show dirt or blood.“I’m ready,” she said.He nodded once. “We move.”***The side entrance was exactly where Kieran said it would be—a service door half-hidden by a stack of forgotten pallets. One guard smoked nearby, and the other stood by the door with his hands in

They dressed for war like they were dressing for a gala. Rae laid out the pieces on the bed: A simple black dress for Elowen—elegant, not loud. Long sleeves. High collar. No white this time. A black domino mask, its shape just enough to blur her features without looking like she was hiding behind a costume. Thin gloves, black, to the elbow. No silver veins. No bracelet gleam. “For you,” Rae said. “Version: “anonymous rich wolf’s intriguing companion” instead of “hi, I’m Lot One, please scan my wrist.”” Elowen tugged the dress over her head, smoothing the fabric down. The mask felt strange when she tied it in place—vision narrowed slightly at the edges, her own face foreign in the mirror. She flexed her fingers in the gloves. The bracelet’s hum was muted but not gone, like a caged thing pressed against fabric instead of metal. “You’re sure this isn’t too theatrical?” she asked. “We’re going to a tribunal auction,” Rae said. “The baseline is theatrical. At least this way, anyone

They didn’t drag her.They guided her, politely, like a clumsy guest.Two guards brought the girl out from the side door marked **EVALUATION**, each with a hand under her elbow.She wore white.Not a dress, not really. A shift. Bare knees, bare feet. A simple mask covered the upper half of her face, but no one was watching mistook her for a participant at a masquerade.Her head lolled. Her steps were too slow, too hesitant, landing a fraction behind the guards’ pacing.Sedated.Just enough to look pliant. Not enough to make it blatant.Elowen’s fingers dug into the padded armrest.The girl couldn’t be more than nineteen. Maybe younger. Her hair hung limp. A bruise bloomed at her wrist where cuffs had recently rubbed. She shivered as the stage lights hit her, some reflex deeper than drugs.She looked like a hundred versions of Elowen that could have been, if one clinic visit had gone another way, if Daire hadn’t signed papers, if Level Three had lasted longer.Her chest cramped.*That

The door at the side of the stage cracked open on Crowe’s cue.No one came through.Not yet.Instead, movement rippled through the body of the hall.Security thickened.Men in dark suits and discreet earpieces began to peel off the walls and aisles, drifting down through the rows like ink spreading in water. They didn’t look like tribunal enforcers, exactly—no pins, no uniforms—but their eyes were wrong for hired guards. Too focused. Too coordinated.Rae’s voice hissed in Kieran’s ear. “They’re flagging “disruptor risk” in the control room,” she said. “Code words flying. “Stability,” “containment,” “asset recovery on-site.” This crowd’s about to get less voluntary.”Kieran’s jaw tightened.From his vantage point near the tech door, he saw three of the suits converge on the balcony where a cluster of younger wolves were openly watching Rae’s leak on their phones instead of the stageOne guard leaned in. “Phones away,” he said, voice polite, hand firm on a shoulder. “Tribunal feed only.