Percival's POV
Two years had passed since the birth. A daughter, as I had anticipated. Fragile and unnaturally small, but breathing.
I cradled her delicate form and conducted my examination with methodical precision. Her eyes, her ears, the density of her developing bones. I searched for any trace that my carefully orchestrated experiments had taken hold.
Nothing. She remained utterly ordinary. A standard Omega werewolf infant, as weak as her mother. The extraordinary potential I had been certain would emerge never materialized.
Bitter disappointment flooded my mouth like poison.
Two years of meticulous work wasted. Two years of constant surveillance and precisely controlled environments. Two years ensuring Hera remained healthy and properly nourished so this child could develop without interference.
All meaningless.
My gaze shifted to Hera. She watched me with such desperate hope burning in her eyes, as though she believed this failure might finally earn their freedom.
