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The clock ticks past midnight, there's no noise no matter how much you try to listen. Soon a piercing cry hits the room, Lumina stirs. She’s not asleep anyway. Hasn’t been, not really. Her body’s been lying still, her eyes shut, but her mind hasn’t left that nursery all night.

She sits up in bed and listens.

Again.

That same cry. Her daughter.

Second night in a row.

She didn't even wait to hear it again before she’s already out of the bed, grabbing her robe and moving through the dim hallway barefoot. Her steps are silent, but inside her chest, everything feels too loud. Her thoughts, her instincts, the way something’s been gnawing at her since yesterday.

When she opens the door to the nursery, the soft glow of the nightlight paints the room in gold. The twins lie in their separate cribs. Her daughter’s tiny fists are curled, her face wet with tears. She’s kicking, crying louder now that she sees Lumina.

Her son lies still, Lumina walks in slowly. She leans over the crib and picks up the crying twin, holding her close.

“Shhh… I’m here,” she whispers, rocking her gently. “It’s okay, little one. I’m here.”

But it’s not okay.

The baby continues to cry, not like she’s hungry, not like she’s cold. This is different. There’s fear in her body.

Lumina glances over at her son again. His tiny chest rises and falls, steady. But even from here, something feels… off. His aura. It’s not moving the way it used to.

She's always known her twins are connected somehow. When one is sick with a fever, the other picks it up.

She feels a jolt of panic hit her ribs.

“Bianca,” she murmurs under her breath, already turning toward the hallway. She doesn’t wait. She heads downstairs, baby still in her arms, grabs her phone from the kitchen counter, and dials.

It rings twice.

Bianca picks on the third.

“Lumina?” her voice is thick with sleep.

“She’s crying again,” Lumina says, voice low but rushed. “Same as last night. Only this time… it’s worse. He’s not responding. She’s crying and—he’s not responding.”

A pause. Bianca’s silent for a moment. Then she speaks, fully awake now. “Bring them here.”

“I want you to come here,” Lumina insists, shifting the baby to her other arm. “I want both of you here. You and mother. I don’t want to move them in this state.”

“I’ll be there in ten,” Bianca says.

Lumina ends the call.

She walks back up. The girl has calmed slightly but keeps giving little shudders. Her son still hasn’t stirred. No whimper, no stretch, nothing.

She places the baby back into her crib, then leans over the boy, placing a hand over his chest. Warm. But the energy around him—it’s dim.

Like a flickering light.

She moves her fingers to his temple, gently trying to feel deeper. Her power flows—reaching, sensing. But something blocks her. Like a wall she didn’t know was there before.

She withdraws her hand quickly, breathing in slow.

Bianca and Theon’s mother arrive within minutes.

The door opens and closes. Fast footsteps follow.

Lumina meets them at the top of the stairs.

“They’re in here” she says before either of them can speak. Her voice sounds like someone else’s. Calm, too calm.

Bianca doesn’t wait for details. She walks straight in, already tapping into her senses.

Theon’s mother follows, face tense but unreadable.

Lumina steps back, letting them through.

Bianca goes straight to the baby girl. She doesn’t touch her. Just stands close, closes her eyes, breathes in.

“Her fear is echoing,” she murmurs. “Louder than her own mind. Like it’s someone else’s fear sitting inside her.”

Theon’s mother moves to the boy’s crib, placing her hand lightly on his chest. Then she moves it to the side of his head.

A long silence follows. Both women stand still, their expressions tight, their bodies straining for something they can’t find.

Lumina stands by the doorway, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Can either of you feel his Lycan?” she asks. “Because I can’t. And it’s been screaming at me since yesterday.”

“I feel something,” Bianca says finally. “But it’s faint. Almost like it’s… wrapped in something.”

Theon’s mother nods slowly, stepping away from the crib. 

“I tried to see through it. But something is shielding him. It’s not darkness. It’s more like a fog that is thick and heavy. Magical in nature, but not from him.” Bianca says.

Lumina exhales. “Then it’s external. Something’s affecting them from outside.”

“Not both of them,” Bianca says quietly. “Only him.”

Her eyes go to the baby girl, who has stopped crying now. Her eyes are wide open, staring at the ceiling, but there’s no calm in them. Only confusion. Restlessness.

“She’s reacting to what’s happening to him,” Bianca adds. “That bond between them—it’s too strong. She’s carrying the fear he can’t express.”

“Can we fix it?” Lumina asks.

Another silence.

“No,” Bianca says. “Not until we know what’s causing it.” She sighs. “This isn’t something we can pull out with force. If we try to break through without knowing what it is, we risk hurting him.”

Lumina walks over to the boy’s crib again and sits beside it. Her hand hovers above his tiny hand, but she doesn’t touch him.

“I knew something was wrong,” she says quietly. “Yesterday he smiled less. Didn’t reach out the way he used to. Then tonight… this.”

Bianca kneels beside her. “It’s not your fault.”

“I’m not looking for comfort.”

“I know,” Bianca says. “But you need to know you didn’t miss anything. This… this was sudden. Whatever it is, it came too fast for us to notice.”

Theon’s mother remains by the window, watching both twins. “We’ll monitor them. Day and night. Until we find a thread we can follow.”

“And if the thread never comes?” Lumina asks, voice low, dangerous.

“It will.”

Silence again.

Lumina gets up slowly. Walks to her daughter’s crib and strokes her cheek gently.