Raine knew the moment the blood appeared that something had shifted beyond her control. It wasn’t the illness, as she had come to understand it by now; its rhythm or the way it gradually weakened Landon.
This was different. This reaction was sharp and immediate.
Landon’s coughing had slowed; the blood no longer spilled between his fingers in violent bursts but was reduced to thin streaks staining his lips.
Even that alone was enough to make her stomach twist. She had barely stabilized him because she had forced the medicine to counteract whatever reaction had just occurred.
Her hands still glowed faintly from the magic she had pressed into him, steadying his breathing and calming the violent tremor while trying to hold his body together.
The metallic scent of blood lingered in the air, mixing with the faint sweetness of the water lilies.
That scent again.
Raine wiped her hands slowly on a cloth, her mind racing through every possible mistake she could have made.
There had been none. That certainty was the most terrifying part for her.
She was still standing beside the bed when the door slammed open.
Alpha Janson filled the doorway like a storm breaking loose; his presence was suffocating, and the air was shifting instantly into something sharp and dangerous. Even without looking at him, Raine knew what his face looked like. She could feel the anger rolling off him in waves.
"What happened." His voice was not loud. It was worse. He didn’t ask; he demanded.
Raine swallowed, forcing herself to remain steady. "He reacted to the medicine."
Stepping closer like a wolf toward its prey, Janson’s gaze snapped to the bowl, to the vial, and to Raine. "You gave him something new."
"No," she shook her head immediately. "It was the same concoction. I just made small adjustments based on how he reacted every time. But there are no significant changes whatsoever. Only adjustments in the ratio. The brewing methods."
Landon shifted weakly on the bed, breathing unevenly. His fingers twitched against the sheets. Raine noticed. Janson noticed too.
The alpha stepped forward, his expression darkening. "He coughed blood."
"Yes." Raine kept her voice calm, though her heart was racing. "I noticed. I was the one trying to stop it."
His jaw tightened. "He coughed blood! He is worse!" Alpha Janson snapped at her. He was furious.
Raine crossed her arms before she could stop herself, a defensive habit she never managed to break. "Which is why I stabilized him."
"That is not improvement." His gaze hardened. Janson said, "You said you knew how to cure him. I gave you my permission to do anything you think necessary."
"And blood does not automatically mean decline," Raine replied, her voice sharpening. She tilted her head. "I said I knew what was happening. Those are not the same sentence." Raine corrected. "And I am closer than anyone before me."
That was a dangerous claim.
Janson took another step forward, towering, controlled anger radiating from him. "Ten healers said the same thing with confidence."
Feeling cornered, she forced herself to continue anyway. "And ten healers didn’t understand the cause. If there were something wrong with the concoction I prepared," she said slowly, "he would have shown the reaction long ago."
Janson’s gaze was fixed on her, and the look inside them was the same one she had seen on the day she arrived—the look of a man who had buried hope so many times that he no longer trusted it.
"He didn’t get any better," he said.
Raine’s frustration finally slipped through. "But he didn’t get worse either."
The room went still. Janson’s voice dropped dangerously. "Careful." Janson’s expression did not change. He looked at the blood again. "Take her."
Raine’s stomach dropped.
The two warriors who had been standing outside stepped in immediately, their movements efficient and practiced, the kind of obedience that came from years of not questioning orders.
Raine looked back at Janson. "You’re making a mistake. You said six months," she continued, her voice steadier than she felt. "It has not even been one."
Janson did not look at her. He repeated. "My son coughed blood."
"And I stopped it."
There was no response. His silence told her everything. Raine exhaled slowly, the fight leaving her shoulders not because she accepted the decision but because she understood the truth beneath it.
It was hope slipping away.
The warriors stepped forward and took her arm. Firm but not cruel. Raine didn’t struggle because she knew it was a futile attempt. She glanced at Landon as they guided her toward the door, and she spoke lightly.
"For the record," she said, "if he dies while I’m in the dungeon, that will be inconvenient for both of us."
Janson’s jaw tightened. That was the only reaction she got.
The hallway felt colder than she remembered. Pack members noticed immediately—they always did. Conversations were lowered, eyes followed her, and whispers moved faster than the truth.
Raine kept her posture straight, refusing to look small even as the reality felt heavier with each step.
One of the warriors spoke quietly as they walked. "You shouldn’t have argued with the Alpha."
Surprised with the tone of concern from the warrior, Raine glanced sideways. "I explained. People just dislike that when they’re scared of what they don’t understand."
He didn’t answer.
They descended toward the lower levels, where the air cooled and the stone absorbed sound. This place was a silent reminder of what happened to those people who failed, and she had not expected to come here so soon.
"Next time," she murmured, mostly to herself, "I’ll let him bleed quietly. Less controversial." Raine wasn’t joking.
Her mind replayed the reaction again and again. The reaction had been wrong. The timing, the speed, and the scent—especially the flowers, the water lilies.
Something had changed. Not the medicine, though. About this, she was most certain. It was the environment.
They reached the dungeon doors. Cold air welcomed her. The second warrior opened the cell, and Raine stepped inside without being pushed. There was a strange calm in that choice, taking control of herself.
The door closed behind her with a dull metallic sound. The warriors left, and their footsteps faded.
How ironic... Here she was again, in a cold, dark cell. Some familiarity she had known for years.
Raine leaned back against the wall, exhaling slowly. She slid down to sit on the floor, pulling her knees closer as her thoughts raced faster now that no one was watching. And only then did her hands begin to shake.
Not from fear of punishment, even though it existed, but from the certainty that she had been right.
The concoction was correct. Landon’s body had accepted it before. This meant the variable was external. Raine closed her eyes. "The water lilies," she murmured. She couldn’t stop thinking about that unnecessary change today.
She replayed the moment she entered Landon’s room—the instinct and the familiar scent she couldn’t place. Something subtle. Something easy to dismiss unless you were looking.
The fact that someone had interfered with her routine. That meant one thing. Someone was ahead of her. And whoever it was had just accelerated the progress of Landon’s poisoning once more.
Raine let out a quiet breath that almost became a laugh. "Well done," she told the empty cell. "The healer is in the dungeon. Excellent strategy."
Raine had never been particularly good at giving up, especially when she knew she was right.
Above her, the pack house continued as if nothing had changed—footsteps, distant voices. But something had changed. Reactions had surfaced.
Resting her head against the stone wall, her eyes were closing briefly; her brain was already mapping possibilities, already building the next move, even from a cell.
She closed her eyes, exhaustion finally catching up to her. Whoever was poisoning Landon had just taken a step forward.