The third contraction built differently.
It didn't crest like the others—it gathered, like storm clouds building on the horizon, like the pressure before a summer thunderstorm. Alex felt it in his bones, in the deep ache of his pelvis, in the way his body seemed to be holding its breath along with him.
"Breathe," Zale murmured, cool mist washing over Alex's flushed face. "Don't fight it. Let it build. Let it come."
Alex closed his eyes and did what Zale said.
The pressure grew. And grew. And grew.
And then, when Alex was certain he couldn't take another moment of it, something shifted.
The third cub came differently from the first two. Not in a rush of urgency, but in a slow, deliberate wave—as though it was taking its time, as though it wanted to feel every moment of its arrival. Alex pushed with the contraction, felt the burning stretch, and then—
Silence.
The third cub didn't cry.
