I sat in the dim glow of the medical monitors, my hand still anchored by Leo’s small, hot fingers. Even in a deep, medicated sleep, he wouldn't let go. Across the glass partition, the scene was a tableau of royal heartbreak: the King, Sol, and Marcus stood like three pillars of shadow around the Queen’s bed. They looked powerful enough to level cities, yet they looked utterly helpless. The lead physician, a man who had served the Silver Pack for years, slipped into the room. He moved with a practiced quiet, glancing at the sleeping boy before leaning in close. "Alpha," he whispered, his face etched with a grim professionalism. "The Queen... it’s not just physical. She is severely malnourished, yes, but her heart isn't in the recovery. The psychologist says she’s entered a state of maternal stasis. She’s refusing to eat, refusing to cooperate with the healers. She keeps repeating that she won't get better until her daughter is found." I looked through the glass at her fire-red hair,
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