The Lycan King’s Broken Mate
The pace is faster than usual.
I get up, the stone cold under my bare feet—doesn’t matter. I walk over.
The nurse sits on a chair, reading, looks up, nods.
Selin stands at the crib rail, gripping the wooden bar with both hands, and pulls herself up to elbow height.
She’s not “holding on.” She’s doing a pull-up.
The muscles on her back define—not grotesquely, but clearly.
A six-month-old doesn’t do this.
Kael attempts the same at the other end of the bar. Pulls himself up, holds for two beats, lets go.