"And when someone interrupts? When all that trust disappears?"
"Then I build it again." I met his eyes. "As many times as it takes."
Neal stared at me for a long moment. Something shifted in his expression — the clinical distance giving way to something warmer.
"You're incredible," he said quietly. "And completely insane."
"Probably both."
"Definitely both." He squeezed my hand. "At least let me bring you food. And sleep more than four hours tonight."
"I'll try."
"You'll do more than try." He stood, pulling me up with him. "James is in the cafeteria. You're going to eat. Then you're going to sleep. Doctor's orders."
I let him lead me down the corridor. Let myself lean on him, just a little.
Tomorrow, I'd go back to Stone's cell. Sit in that chair. Talk about whatever mundane things came to mind.
And if someone interrupted again—
I'd start over.
As many times as it took.
Because that's what you did for pack. For family. For the people you refused to let go of.
You kept showing up.
Even when it hurt.
Chapter fourteen
The Council Chamber was nothing like I expected.
I'd imagined something grand — vaulted ceilings, ancient wood, the weight of centuries pressing down on everyone who entered. Instead, it was a conference room on the third floor of the administration building. Long table, uncomfortable chairs, a window that looked out over the grey campus below.
But the people inside made up for the mundane setting.
The Council members, arranged around the table like judges at a tribunal. I recognized a few faces. The rest were strangers. Men and women of varying ages, all watching me.
Rae sat at one end of the table, her posture straight, her face carefully neutral. Twilson sat at the other, equally composed but radiating something colder.
I was given a chair against the wall. Observer status, Rae had called it. I could watch, but I couldn't speak unless directly addressed.
James had wanted to come. So had Neal. I'd told them no. This was political, and politics required a light touch. Having my mates flanking me like bodyguards would send the wrong message.
So I sat alone, hands folded in my lap, and tried to look like I belonged there.
Headmaster Twilson spoke first.
"Thank you all for convening on such short notice." His voice was measured, controlled. The voice of a man who had spent decades navigating rooms like this one. "I wish the circumstances were different. Unfortunately, recent events have forced our hand."
He pressed a button on the table, and a screen on the wall flickered to life. Images appeared — the campus during lockdown, the flashing red lights, students clustered at windows looking confused and afraid.
"Three days ago, a student brought five feral shifters onto this campus without authorization, without preparation, and without regard for the safety of the three hundred students in my care." Twilson's gaze swept the room. "The resulting lockdown lasted over three hours. Parents have called demanding explanations. Staff members have expressed concerns about working conditions. And I have five extremely dangerous individuals currently housed in a medical facility that was never designed to contain them."
He clicked to the next image. Stone's cell. The scratches on the barrier. The evidence of his violence, frozen in photographic stillness.
