Stone kept throwing himself at the wall.
I talked about about dinner. About the gray feral holding Cal's gaze, about the hope I'd seen in my mate's eyes.
Stone's impacts slowed. Slightly.
I talked about the mountain. About James following me. About finding Cal. About dragging him off Denali.
Stone stopped lunging. Started pacing instead.
I talked until my voice gave out. Then I sat in silence, watching him circle his cell, and let the bond carry what words couldn't.
Two hours passed. Three.
The pacing slowed. Became less frantic, less desperate.
By the time I finally stood to leave, Stone was standing still in the center of his cell. Not lying down — we'd lost that. But not attacking the walls either.
He watched me go.
Through the bond, I felt his exhaustion. His confusion. The war between instinct and something else — our bond.
I made it to the corridor before my legs gave out.
I found a bench and sat down hard. Let my head fall into my hands.
This wasn't working. Every time we made progress, something shattered it. The interruptions were unpredictable. I couldn't control them. Couldn't protect the fragile space we were building.
"Lumi."
I looked up.
Neal was standing in the corridor, tablet in hand, watching me with an expression caught between concern and clinical assessment.
"You look terrible," he said.
"Thanks."
"I mean it." He sat down beside me. Close, but not touching. "You've been in there for hours. When did you last eat?"
I tried to remember. Couldn't.
"You need to pace yourself," he said quietly. "This isn't sustainable."
"If I don't come, he thinks I've abandoned him."
"If you collapse, you won't be able to help him at all."
He wasn't wrong. I knew he wasn't wrong. But the thought of not going, of leaving Stone alone with his rage and his fear—
"I can't stop," I said. "Neal, I can't. He was calmer this morning. He waswaitingfor me. And then that guard walked inand everything—" My voice cracked. "I have to keep showing up. Even when it falls apart. Especially when it falls apart."
Neal was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached out and took my hand.
"I'm worried about you," he said. "We all are. James feels your exhaustion through the bond. And I—" He stopped. Swallowed. "I don't know how to help you."
I looked at our hands. His fingers wrapped around mine. Warm. Solid.
"He's starting to trust me," I said. "Stone. Under all the rage, there's something else now. Something that wants to believe I'm not going to hurt him."
