The chamber went silent.
Cole stood.
He was wearing the same dark clothes he always wore—simple, functional, designed to blend into the background. But there was nothing background about him now. Every eye in the room was fixed on him. Every breath held.
I looked at his arm. It was bandaged beneath his sleeve—I could see the slight bulge of gauze. He'd been injured protecting me. And now he would decide the fate of everything I'd fought for.
Our eyes met.
Just for a moment. Just long enough for me to feel that flicker again—the echo of the bond that had sparked between us. Then he looked away, facing the council.
"My assessment is complete," he said. His voice was calm. Measured. Giving nothing away. "I was brought here to evaluate the threat level of the feral subjects and recommend appropriate action."
Twilson leaned forward. I saw the anticipation in his eyes—the certainty that Cole would validate everything he'd been arguing for.
"Based on my observations," Cole continued, "the ferals do represent a potential security risk. The containment breach last night demonstrated that current protocols are insufficient for worst-case scenarios."
Twilson nodded. Smug.
"However."
The word landed like a stone in still water.
"The breach was an isolated incident involving one subject. The remaining four ferals have shown consistent improvement under current treatment protocols. More importantly, they have shown consistent positive response to Miss Orlav's presence."
Cole's eyes found mine again. Held.
"I observed Miss Orlav's interactions with the subjects over a three-day period. Her effect on them is remarkable. Quantifiable. Wolves that showed extreme aggression toward all other staff became calm in her presence. Wolves that had retreated entirely into feral state showed signs of awareness and recognition."
He turned back to the council.
"Whatever Miss Orlav is doing—however she's doing it—it's working. And I believe, based on my professional assessment, that terminating this program would be a mistake."
Twilson's face went red. "This is—you can't—"
"My recommendation," Cole continued, ignoring the interruption, "is that the ferals be granted continued sanctuary under enhanced security protocols. Additional containment measures. Increased monitoring. Regular progress assessments."
He paused.
"Furthermore, I am requesting to remain on-site as the lead security consultant, indefinitely. To oversee the implementation of these protocols and to continue monitoring the situation as it develops."
The chamber exploded.
Twilson was shouting something about conflict of interest. Other council members were talking over each other. Rae looked stunned. Neal looked relieved. And I—
I couldn't look away from Cole.
He was staying. He'd recommended sanctuary. He'd defended me in front of the entire council.
And he was staying.
The vote was close.
The same split, four in favor of continued sanctuary. Three against.
Conditional. Probationary. Subject to review.
But the ferals would live.
