“It’s nothing like that,” she said, lifting her trouser leg slightly to reveal the swelling around her ankle. “I wasn’t watching where I was going and paid for it.”
They chuckled sympathetically, their assumptions unchanged.
Adriana lowered the fabric again and stepped inside her office.
The door closed softly behind her.
In the quiet, she allowed herself one long breath.
Very soon, she told herself, none of this would matter anymore.
By the time Adriana finally sat down and peeled back the fabric around her ankle, the bruising had deepened into an angry shade of purple. The swelling was far worse than before. Walking on it earlier—out of stubbornness more than necessity—had clearly made it deteriorate.
A sharp breath escaped Dr. Donovan, who was reviewing patient charts beside her. “That looks bad,” he muttered, then immediately waved over a passing nurse. “Go inform Alpha Reed. If his future Luna limps around like this and we ignored it, we’ll all hear about it later.”
Adriana’s head snapped up. “No—wait, don’t call him—”
But the nurse had already hurried down the corridor before she could finish.
She exhaled, shoulders sagging. After a brief hesitation, she reached for her communication stone and sent Nathanie a message.
[Someone noticed my ankle and sent a nurse to tell you. I tried to stop them. Please don’t make a fuss over it.]
She stared at the screen afterward, waiting for the faint glow that would signal his reply.
Nothing came.
When the nurse returned several minutes later, her steps were slower this time. She avoided Adriana’s eyes at first.
“Alpha Reed said he’s aware,” she began carefully. “But… Lady Olivia is in his office. They’re talking. He didn’t say he would come.”
The room seemed to grow smaller.
Adriana kept her gaze lowered, focusing on the edge of her desk as though the grain of the wood required intense study.
“He must be occupied,” she said quietly. The words felt like they scraped her throat on the way out.
Her stone vibrated in her palm.
A voice message.
She opened it almost instantly.
Nathanie’s voice came through—steady, composed, distant.
“Got it.”
Two simple words.
No concern. No question. No instruction to rest.
Just acknowledgment.
It felt as though every wolf in the infirmary could hear the emptiness in it.
Before the silence grew too suffocating, the receptionist called out from the front.
“Healer Adriana? A patient is requesting you.”