"I don't know either," I murmured. "But I don't think he's our enemy."
Stone made a sound. Not quite agreement. Not quite disagreement.
We'd see.
The observations continued.
Cole came every morning. Stayed for hours. Watched me work with Stone, with the gray one, with the other ferals. He asked questions that seemed random but probably weren't. He never touched anything. Never interfered.
And he never stopped watching me.
By the third day, even Stone had begun to tolerate his presence. Not accept—Stone didn't accept anyone except me—but the constant growling had stopped. The aggressive posturing had faded. He still positioned himself between me and Cole whenever the consultant was in the room, but it felt more like habit than genuine threat.
"He's improving," Cole observed on the third afternoon. We were in the gray one's room—Cal's packmate, the wolf who had managed four seconds of human form. "His coat looks healthier. He's put on weight."
"He started eating more after Stone's shift." I was sitting by the barrier, watching the gray wolf watch me. "I think seeing recovery actually happen gave him something to hold onto."
"Hope."
"Maybe. Or just proof that it's possible."
Cole was quiet for a moment. Then: "What made you decide to go into Stone's room? The night he shifted?"
The question caught me off guard. I'd expected more clinical queries—how long had the ferals been contained, what were their vital statistics, standard assessment questions. Not this.
"He was dying," I said. "The bond was incomplete, and fighting it was destroying him. Going in was the only way to complete it."
"You could have died."
"I almost did. He had his teeth on my throat."
"But you went anyway."
"Yes."
"Why?"
I turned to look at him. He was leaning against the wall in his usual position, arms crossed, face unreadable. But there was something in his eyes—something that looked almost like genuine curiosity.
"Because I couldn't watch him give up," I said. "Because the bond told me there was still someone in there worth saving. Because—" I stopped. Tried to find the right words. "Because some things are worth the risk. Even when you're scared. Even when everyone tells you it's impossible."
Cole studied me. The silence stretched until it became uncomfortable.
"You're not afraid of me," he said finally. "Everyone else on this campus—staff, students, even the council members—they're all afraid of me. But you're not."
"Should I be?"
"Most people think so."
"I'm not most people."
Something flickered across his face. Not quite a smile. But close.
"No," he said quietly. "You're not."
He pushed off from the wall. Moved toward the door.
"My observation period is complete," he said. "I have what I need for my report."
