I left him there.
The alpha's containment cell was in the deepest part of the building.
Reinforced walls. Secure locks. Observation windows made of something stronger than glass. The kind of space designed to hold things that didn't want to be held.
He was pacing when I arrived.
Back and forth, back and forth. Massive body moving with restless energy, claws clicking against the floor. His fur was still matted — no one had been able to get close enough to clean him. His eyes were wild, unfocused, seeing threats everywhere.
I stood at the observation window and watched.
Through the bond between us, I felt his rage. His confusion. The constant, grinding pressure of captivity pressing against instincts that screamedescape, fight, survive.
He didn't want to be here. Didn't want to be helped. Didn't want anything except to be left alone.
And I'd taken that from him.
"I know you hate me," I said quietly.
He didn't react. Just kept pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth.
"I know you didn't ask for this. Any of this. The rescue. The bond. Being trapped in a cell while strangers decide your fate." I pressed my palm against the window. "I know it feels like we just traded one prison for another."
His pace faltered. Just slightly. Just for a moment.
Then he resumed, faster than before. More agitated.
"But I'm not giving up on you." I kept my voice steady. Calm. "You kept your pack alive for years. Protected them when no one else would. Fought for them when it would have been easier to let go." I paused. "That takes strength. The kind of strength that doesn't break, no matter what."
He stopped.
For one moment, he stood frozen in the center of the cell. Head turned toward me. Eyes fixed on mine through the reinforced glass.
The bond pulsed between us. Painful. But present.
"Stone," I said.
The word came from somewhere deep — not planned, not calculated. Just right.
"That's what I'm going to call you. Stone." I held his gaze. "Because no matter what they throw at you — the sedatives, the cell, the Council deciding whether you deserve to live — you don't break. You just keep standing."
His lips pulled back. A snarl. A warning.
But he didn't look away.
"I'll be back tomorrow," I said. "And the day after that. And the day after that. However long it takes."
I turned and walked away before he could respond.
But I felt him watching me go. Felt the bond stretch between us, thin and fragile and fighting itself.
Chapter twelve
Icame back the next morning.
Not because I thought it would help. Not because I had a plan. Just because I'd said I would, and breaking promises felt like the wrong way to start.
The Healing Center was quieter at this hour — early enough that most of the staff were still finishing their coffee, reviewing charts, preparing for the day. I signed in at the front desk, nodded to the night nurse who was just ending her shift, and made my way toward the isolation wing.
