Page 123 of Run Little Omega

"Not immediately," The Hound says. "But they've begun the process. The poison fed into human waterways can be cleansed, in time."

In time. Perhaps too late for my mother, for the other victims of the wasting sickness. But not too late for future generations. Not too late for Willow, whose illness might yet be reversed.

The spreading growth accelerates as more blood flows from Cadeyrn's palm. He makes no move to heal the wound, instead letting it bleed freely until the plants have spread across nearly half the disposal pit.

I kneel beside him, awkwardly shifting to accommodate my growing belly. One of the babies does a full somersault inside me, making me catch my breath.

"Whoa," I murmur. "They're really moving in there."

Cadeyrn glances at me, hesitation written all over his face. He keeps his distance, respecting the invisible barrier I've maintained since finding out about his role in the cullings.

But something feels different in this moment. Not forgiveness—definitely not that. But maybe... a door cracking open where before there was only a wall.

I grab his bloody hand and press it against the side of my belly where the movement is strongest. "Here," I say gruffly. "Feel what we made. Feel what's growing in spite of everything."

His touch is careful at first, like he's afraid I'll change my mind. Then a baby kicks right against his palm, and his whole body goes still with wonder. His cillae brighten, matching mine, and for the first time since I learned the truth about this place, our bond feels like something other than a raw wound.

"I can feel them," he says, voice barely above a whisper. "All four. They're strong."

The moment hangs between us, as delicate as the first ice of autumn—beautiful and dangerous and impossibly fragile. I feel our claiming bond pulse beneath my skin, no longer just the raw scrape of betrayal but something more complex. Hatred and need and possibility all tangled together with the lives growing inside me. This is the terrible truth of what we've become—two broken creatures creating something new from the ruins of what we destroyed. Not forgiveness, but perhaps understanding. Not trust, but recognition.

The purification plants continue to spread, glowing brighter as twilight deepens around us. They won't erase what happened here—nothing could. But they offer possibility where there was only desolation before.

Much like the tiny lives growing within me. Much like whatever remains between Cadeyrn and myself. Damaged, transforming, but not destroyed.

"We need to move," The Hound warns, scanning the treeline. "Court patrols will return soon."

Cadeyrn helps me to my feet, his touch careful but not hesitant. The wound on his palm has already begun to heal, frost sealing the edges of the cut.

As we turn to leave, I cast one last look at the spreading growth, at the barren ground being reclaimed by something new and unexpected. Not erased, but transformed. The knowledge settles into my bones alongside the ache of betrayal and the fierce protectiveness for the lives I carry.

Some wounds never fully heal. But perhaps they can be acknowledged. Perhaps they can even, in time, nurture something new.

CHAPTER44

POV: Briar

The purification plantshave spread further by morning, their luminescent tendrils reaching like delicate fingers across the once-barren soil. I sit at the edge of our makeshift camp, watching the crimson dawn filter through ancient branches above. The forest feels different today—more alert, somehow. More present.

"They're watching us," I murmur, not expecting anyone to hear.

The Hound materializes from the shadows, his mismatched eyes reflecting the early light. "You feel it too."

It's not a question. Since the blood ritual, my awareness has sharpened beyond normal senses. The quadruplets shift restlessly inside me, as though they also perceive the forest's growing consciousness.

"It's like the trees are... listening." I press a hand against my swollen belly where one of the babies stretches. "Like they're waiting for something."

"The Wild Magic awakens old awareness." The Hound crouches beside me, scanning the forest with predatory focus. "The Bloodmoon Forest was never just trees and earth. It remembers what it once was, before the courts divided magic into seasons."

Cadeyrn approaches from where he's been scouting our perimeter, cillae pulsing across his skin. Even from this distance, I can sense his agitation through our claiming bond.

"Something's happening," he says without preamble. "Court emissaries are gathering at the stone circle. All four courts."

A chill traces my spine that has nothing to do with Winter Court magic. "They never work together."

"They do when sufficiently motivated." Cadeyrn's expression darkens. "The last time all four courts united was to suppress the Wild Magic rebellion seven centuries ago."

The babies tumble inside me, one of them pressing uncomfortably against my bladder. My body seems determined to remind me of its rapidly changing state at the most inconvenient moments.

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