"His name is Stone."
"The feral you call Stone." Twilson's correction was gentle. Deliberate. "Has shown no meaningful progress despite weeks of intervention. His violent episodes continue. His threat level remains high. And you—" He paused. "You continue to place yourself in proximity to that threat, day after day."
"I'm not in danger. The barriers—"
"The barriers are designed to contain wolves, not to protect the people who insist on sitting inches away from them." Twilson's voice hardened. Just slightly. Just enough to show the steel beneath the concern. "What happens if those barriers fail? What happens if your... bond... with this creature overwhelms your judgment at a critical moment?"
Creature.
The word landed like a slap.
"Stone is a person," I said. "A person who was damaged. A person who is fighting to recover."
"Stone is a feral wolf who has shown consistent aggression toward every staff member who approaches him. A wolf who attacked his containment barrier so violently two days ago that he fractured his own ribs." Twilson spread his hands. "I'm not unsympathetic. I understand that you believe he can be saved. But belief isn't evidence. And the safety of this institution—the safety of our students—cannot be sacrificed for one person's hope."
There it was.
Not concern. Not care.
Control.
Twilson wasn't arguing facts. He wasn't presenting evidence that Stone couldn't recover. He was framing the situation in terms of liability, of institutional risk, of the threat that my involvement posed to his carefully managed world.
He was afraid. I could see it now—the tightness around his eyes, the way his hands kept moving, adjusting his cuffs, touching his desk, never quite still. He was afraid of what the ferals represented. Afraid of what their recovery might reveal. Afraid of losing control of a situation that had already spiraled beyond his ability to manage.
"The council is meeting this afternoon," I said. "To review the ferals' progress."
"Yes." Twilson's expression flickered. Surprise that I knew, maybe. Or annoyance. "The thirty-day review, as agreed. Rae Whitaker will present the findings. The council will make a determination about whether to continue the current protocols or..." He paused. "Explore other options."
"Other options meaning what?"
"That will be for the council to decide."
"Transfer? Elimination?" I kept my voice steady. "Is that what you're hoping for?"
Twilson's jaw tightened. "I'm hoping for a resolution that protects this institution and everyone in it. Including you." He stepped closer. Not threatening—not quite. But close enough to make his point. "You're young. Talented. You have your whole life ahead of you. And you're throwing it away on creatures who may never be capable of recovering. Who may never be anything other than what they are now."
"And what are they now?"
"Dangerous." The word was flat. Final. "Unstable. A liability that this institution cannot afford."
I looked at him. At his expensive suit and his careful hair and his eyes that saw Stone as a problem to be solved rather than a person to be saved.
"Is that all?" I asked.
Twilson blinked. Whatever response he'd expected, it wasn't that.
"I... yes. I simply wanted you to understand the situation. The pressures we're facing. The decisions that may need to be made." He stood. "I hope you'll consider what I've said. For your own sake."
"I'll consider it," I said.
The council chamber seemed filled with tension.
I slid into the seat beside Neal.
"How bad?" I murmured.
"Depends on who's talking." He didn't look at me. His eyes were fixed on the council table, on the faces of the men and women who would decide Stone's fate. "Rae's presenting first. Then they'll open the floor for questions."
