"This is the alpha. The most unstable of the five. He has attacked, destroyed monitoring equipment, and shown no signs of the rehabilitation we've been promised." Twilson's voice hardened. "Every day he remains on this campus is a day we risk catastrophic failure."
He turned to face the Council directly.
"I am asking for immediate removal. All five ferals should be transferred to a secure facility equipped to handle their level of danger. The student responsible should face disciplinary action commensurate with her violations of protocol."
Silence.
I kept my face neutral. Kept my hands still in my lap. But my heart was pounding so hard I was certain everyone could hear it.
Immediate removal.
They wanted to take them away. Stone, Cal's packmates, all of them. Send them to some "secure facility" that was probably just a pretty name for a cage. Or worse.
I looked at Rae.
She was watching Twilson with an expression I couldn't read. Waiting. Patient.
The Council chair — an older woman with silver hair and sharp eyes — nodded slowly. "Thank you, Headmaster. Rae, your response?"
Rae stood.
"Headmaster Twilson's concerns are valid."
I blinked. That wasn't the opening I'd expected.
"The situation is unprecedented," Rae continued, her voice calm and measured. "Five ferals on a campus designed for students, not patients. An alpha with severe trauma responses."
She paused, letting the weight settle.
"I built this Healing Center to address a specific kind of damage — the trauma left by forced bond severing under the old Council."
A ripple passed through the room. Discomfort. Old wounds, I realized. Old politics that predated me.
"Feral rehabilitation was never part of its mandate," Rae continued. "But trauma is trauma. Broken bonds, broken minds — the healing required is not so different. We adapt. That is what this Center was designed to do."
She paused. Let the words settle.
She pressed her own button. New images appeared on the screen. Medical charts. Graphs. Data I couldn't interpret but that clearly meant something to the people around the table.
"In the seventy-two hours since their arrival, all five ferals have shown measurable improvement. Heart rates are stabilizing. Cortisol levels are dropping. The four non-alpha individuals have responded positively to the presence of their former packmate — a shifter who was himself feral until recently, and who has made remarkable progress under our care."
She clicked to a new slide. A chart showing something that trended upward.
"More significantly, the alpha — despite his violent episodes — has demonstrated a pattern of response to one particular individual. The student Headmaster Twilson mentioned. Miss Orlav."
Every eye in the room turned to me.
I kept still. Kept breathing.
"Miss Orlav has visited the alpha's containment cell twice daily since his arrival," Rae continued. "During her visits, his aggression decreases. His vital signs stabilize. He exhibits behaviors consistent with recognition and — tentatively — trust."
She clicked to another image. A still frame from the monitoring cameras. Stone, lying down in his cell, watching the window where I sat.
"This is from yesterday morning. The alpha was in a state of extreme agitation before Miss Orlav arrived. Within thirty minutes of her presence, he was calm enough to rest. This pattern has repeated with every visit."
Twilson leaned forward. "And the interruptions? The episodes that set him back?"
"Are caused by external factors. Staff members entering the observation room. Security checks." Rae's voice sharpened slightly. "With proper protocols in place — protocols I have already begun implementing — these interruptions can be minimized."
