“In case he wakes up mid-flight,” Rae said when she caught my look. “A panicked feral in a helicopter is nobody’s idea of a good time.”
I climbed in beside him, positioning myself so I could monitor his breathing. James took the seat by Kane, and Rae settled near the pilot's cabin with her medical bag.
The rotors increased speed. The ground dropped away.
I watched the mountain shrink below us—the endless white that had nearly killed us all. It looked different from above. Smaller. Less insurmountable.
I was too exhausted, too numb, too focused on the unconscious wolf beside me to pay attention to anything else.
"Will he wake up?" I asked.
Rae turned and replied. "Probably. The question is what wakes up with him."
"What do you mean?"
"Ferals who've been isolated as long as he has—their minds fragment. Memories, personality, sense of self. When they come back, those pieces don't always reassemble the way they were.He might not remember who he was. Might not be able to function as human. Might be violent, or catatonic, or somewhere in between."
"But the bond—"
"The bond will help. It's an anchor, a point of reference. But it's not magic. It can't rebuild what's been destroyed." She met my eyes, and her expression was gentle but unflinching. "You need to be prepared for the possibility that the person he was is gone. That what comes back might be someone entirely different."
I looked at the wolf. At the scarred muzzle, the matted fur, the body that had survived things I couldn't imagine.
"Then we get to know the new person," I said. "And we help him figure out who he wants to be."
Rae smiled. Small, but real. "That's the right answer."
Frosthaven appeared through the clouds like something from a dream.
The familiar buildings, the snow-covered grounds, the stone walls that had felt like a prison two weeks ago. From above, it looked almost peaceful. Almost safe.
The helicopter touched down on a landing pad I hadn't known existed—tucked behind the healing center, clearly designed for exactly this kind of emergency transport. A team was waiting: two orderlies with a gurney, a doctor I didn't recognize, and—
Twilson.
He stood apart from the medical team, his posture rigid, his expression carved from ice. Watching. Waiting.
"Ignore him," Rae murmured as the rotors slowed. "Get the wolf inside. I'll handle Twilson."
The orderlies moved efficiently, transferring the feral from the helicopter stretcher to the gurney. James stayed close, his hand on my shoulder, his presence steady through the bond.
We made it maybe twenty feet before Twilson stepped into our path.
"Miss Orlav." His voice was silk over steel. "I see you've returned. With... company."
"Headmaster." I kept walking, forcing him to move or be walked through. He moved—barely. "If you'll excuse me, my mate needs medical attention."
"Your mate." The word dripped with disdain. "It’s a feral wolf you dragged off a mountain."
"The bond is complete." I stopped, meeting his eyes. Something hot and fierce was building in my chest—anger, yes, but something else too. Certainty. The unshakeable knowledge that I was right and he was wrong. "He's mine. James and I are both his. The marks are already formed."
"Marks can be—"
"The council is clear on mate rights." I cut him off, my voice harder than I'd ever heard it. "You taught me that yourself, Headmaster. In orientation. 'Mate bonds are sacred and inviolable. No authority supersedes the bond between fated mates.'" I smiled, and it wasn't friendly. "Were you lying, or did you just not expect it to apply to me?"
Twilson's expression flickered. For just a moment, I saw something beneath the ice—surprise, maybe. Or reassessment.
"The council's position on ferals is... complicated," he said carefully. "A wolf who has lost himself to the animal cannot consent to a bond. Cannot participate in pack structure. Cannot—"
