Chapter 93: He is the Father??

Days later, the confirmation came quietly.

The Doctor finished her examination without urgency, washing her hands before turning to them. Her expression was neutral, professional, but her eyes softened when they landed on Luna.

“It’s confirmed,” she said. “You’re pregnant.”

The words did not echo. They didn’t need to.

Luna felt the room tilt, her breath leaving her all at once. “Pregnant?” she repeated faintly.

Knight stiffened. Aston’s composure fractured, his brows drawing together as disbelief crossed his face. “That’s… that’s certain?”

“Yes,” the Doctor replied calmly. “Early stage. But very real.”

Luna’s hand flew to her mouth. Her thoughts scattered, fragments of panic and disbelief colliding in her chest. Deborah placed a firm hand on her back, grounding her.

“It’s okay,” Deborah said quietly. “You’re safe here.”

Knight exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “How did we miss this?”

“Because she didn’t know,” the Doctor said. “And because the symptoms were subtle at first.”

Aston looked at Luna then, really looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time. “Do you… do you know who the father is?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and unavoidable.

Deborah turned to Luna, her voice careful, measured. “Luna,” she said, “I need you to tell me. Who is the father?”

Luna swallowed.

“I don’t know,” she said.

Knight’s head snapped up. “You don’t know?”

“I mean—I remember him,” Luna said quickly, fear creeping into her voice. “I remember his face. I remember being with him.”

Deborah’s gaze sharpened. “Then tell me what you remember.”

Luna closed her eyes. The memory came in pieces, blurred at the edges. A room dimly lit. The scent of metal and heat. A man’s presence... commanding, overwhelming. Dark eyes watching her like he already knew her.

“I remember his face,” she whispered. “But not his name. I don’t remember his name at all.”

Silence filled the room.

“That’s not normal,” Knight muttered.

“No,” Deborah agreed softly. “It isn’t.”

The door opened.

Caelum stepped inside.

His presence altered the space, the air thickening as if the room itself recognized him. His eyes went straight to Luna. Something unreadable passed over his face before his gaze lifted to the Doctor.

Luna stared at him, her heart slamming painfully against her ribs. A sudden, violent sense of recognition surged through her, sharp enough to steal her breath.

Deborah noticed the change instantly. “Luna,” she said quietly. “You okay?”

Her eyes widened.

Her hand trembled as it lifted, fingers curling slightly as if afraid of what they were about to admit. “It’s...... him,” she whispered. “That’s his face.”

Knight went still. Aston’s breath caught audibly.

Caelum did not move.

Deborah felt something cold settle in her chest. “Are .....you sure?”

Luna nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I remember him. I just didn’t know his name.”

The Doctor broke the silence carefully. “Memory loss like this doesn’t happen without cause. Someone interfered.”

Deborah’s gaze snapped back to Caelum.

Understanding passed between them, grim, heavy, unavoidable.

Luna’s hands moved instinctively to her stomach. “We had.... that night...?” she asked, her voice small, confused rather than accusing.

Caelum finally spoke.

“I protected you,” he said quietly.

The room seemed to close in. Deborah felt the truth settle with crushing clarity.

This pregnancy was not an accident. The missing memories were not coincidence. And Caelum’s silence had never been abandonment.

\----

The night deepened quietly around the fortress, the corridors dimmed to a low amber glow as guards changed shifts. Luna had finally fallen asleep under the Doctor’s draught, her breathing even, her body exhausted from shock more than sickness. Knight remained stationed outside her door, unmoving. Aston had withdrawn to the far wing, unable to reconcile what he now knew with the order of the world he trusted.

Deborah stood alone in her office.

The window was open, letting cold air wash over her skin, but it did nothing to cool the questions burning inside her. She did not turn when she felt Caelum enter. She didn’t need to. His presence was unmistakable, heavy and restrained, like something dangerous held deliberately still.

“You owe me an explanation,” Deborah said.

Caelum closed the door behind him. “I know.”

She turned then, finally facing him. “Why?” Her voice was steady, but her eyes were not. “Why is she pregnant?”

His jaw tightened.

“You could have erased the night,” Deborah continued. “You could have prevented this entirely. You didn’t. So tell me why.”

For a long moment, Caelum said nothing. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, the kind that carried weight instead of peace. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower than she had ever heard it.

“It happened after mom died.”

Deborah stilled.

“The nighton the first day of funeral,” he continued. “Everyone thought I was handling it well. They always do.”

Deborah’s throat tightened. She remembered that night. The way he had stood unmoving beside the grave. The way he hadn’t cried. Hadn’t broken.

“I couldn’t stay in the house,” he said. “Every room still smelled like her. Every sound felt wrong. I needed it to stop.”

Deborah took a slow step closer. “So you sought comfort.”

“No,” Caelum corrected quietly. “I sought silence.”

His hands curled at his sides. “Luna was there. She didn’t know who I was. Not really. And for once, that mattered.”

Deborah’s chest ached. “You used her.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he said, sharper now. “It was one night. One mistake. I thought it would dull the pain. I thought forgetting would be easier than remembering.”

“And afterward?” Deborah asked.

“I made sure she was safe,” he replied. “I wiped her memory because if she remembered me, she would have been hunted. Because anyone connected to me becomes a target.”

Deborah closed her eyes briefly. “And the child?”

Caelum swallowed. The movement was subtle, but it was there. “I didn’t know,” he said. “Not then.”

“But when you did know,” Deborah said, opening her eyes again, “you still didn’t tell her.”

“I couldn’t,” he said. “Telling her would have dragged her fully into my world. I thought ignorance would protect her.”

Deborah let out a shaky breath. “You don’t get to decide how much truth a woman deserves.”

His gaze snapped back to her. “I know.”

The admission came too easily. Too late.

“She’s terrified,” Deborah said. “She doesn’t understand why this is happening to her. She thinks she did something wrong.”

Caelum’s expression tightened painfully. “She didn’t.”

“Then you will tell her,” Deborah said firmly. “Everything.”

He hesitated.

“For once,” Deborah added, “you don’t get to control the outcome.”

Silence settled between them again, different now. Heavy with grief instead of anger.

“I didn’t touch her to forget her,” Caelum said quietly. “I touched her because for one night, the pain stopped.”

Deborah felt tears sting her eyes, unexpected and unwelcome. “And now that pain has a name,” she said. “And a heartbeat.”

Caelum looked toward the corridor where Luna slept. His voice was barely more than a whisper.

“And I will carry it for the rest of my life.”

Deborah turned away, her reflection faint in the glass. Outside, the night pressed close, holding secrets it would not keep forever.