I stayed.
Not because I trusted them.
Not because I suddenly believed in fate, prophecy, or the noble sacrifice of my uterus for the greater good.
I stayed because I needed to understand what the hell was happening to my body.
The first two days blurred together in a strange, quiet way. No chains. No guards at the door. No commands barked in alpha tones that made my spine itch. Instead, I was handed books.
Actual books.
Old ones. Newer ones. Some so ancient the pages smelled like dust and oil and time. All of them about me—or at least, bodies like mine. Bodies no one had seen in generations.
Apparently, when you're the last she-wolf on earth, people get very interested in anatomy.
I learned that I had a uterus.
That one took a minute to sink in.
