Naomi rolled Francis onto his back, her touch precise, almost clinical. His aura was collapsing fast now—his life-force dimming like a dying pack beacon. His face had lost all color, and his heartbeat came in uneven, weakened pulses that no longer carried Alpha strength.
"Bring his medicine," she ordered Erica without looking away. "Give him two more pills."
Erica hurried upstairs at once. When she returned, the bottle was already in her trembling hands. Naomi took it, removed two pills, and pressed them into Francis' mouth. A cup of water followed, forcing the capsules down his throat.
Francis wasn't fully unconscious yet.
Somewhere inside the fading layers of his awareness, instinct surged violently. His body tried to rise, tried to fight—Alpha survival instinct refusing submission even as his strength collapsed. His eyelids trembled, struggling against darkness, but voices pinned him down.
"Mom… what do we do now?" Erica asked, her voice uneasy.
