I saw Twilson stiffen in his seat at the side of the room.
"I found inconsistencies," Neal continued. "Students who were flagged for medical classifications that don't appear in any current protocol. Students who were documented as receiving 'intervention' and then simply... disappeared from the system."
"What kind of inconsistencies?" Werrow asked.
"The kind that suggest these feral wolves may not have become feral naturally." Neal's voice was steady. Measured. But I could hear the weight underneath it. "The kind that suggest something was done to them. Deliberately. Before they ever had the chance to develop normally."
Silence.
Then, from the silver-haired council member: "Are you suggesting that this council—or its predecessors—is somehow responsible for the existence of feral wolves?"
"I'm suggesting that before we decide what to do with these wolves, we need to understand what was done to them." Neal didn't flinch. Didn't back down. "These are not random wildanimals. Their ages correspond to students who would have attended this institution approximately eight years ago."
The chamber erupted.
Council members talking over each other. Faculty members rising from their seats. Twilson on his feet, saying something I couldn't hear over the noise.
Werrow banged her gavel against the table. "Order. Order, please."
The chaos subsided. Slowly. Reluctantly.
"Dr. Wilson's claims are serious," Werrow said. Her expression was unreadable. "And require serious consideration. However, this is not the appropriate venue for such a discussion." She looked around the chamber. "I'm calling an executive session. Non-council members will be excused."
No.
I stood before I knew I was moving. "Dr. Werrow—"
"Miss Orlav." Her voice was not unkind. But it was final. "You are not a member of this council. You do not have clearance for executive session. Please exit the chamber."
"But—"
"Now."
A hand closed on my arm. Security. A woman in a neutral uniform, her grip firm but not painful.
"This way, miss."
I looked at Neal. At Rae. At the council members who wouldn't meet my eyes and the ones who watched me with something that might have been sympathy or might have been satisfaction.
Then I let myself be led out.
The waiting was the worst part.
I sat in the corridor outside the council chamber, my back against the cold stone wall, and waited. The doors were closed. The windows were dark. I couldn't hear anything from inside—couldn't tell if they were arguing or agreeing or deciding to destroy everything we'd worked for.
The doors opened two hours later.
Neal emerged first. He looked exhausted—more exhausted than when he'd gone in. His eyes found me immediately, and something in his expression made my stomach drop.
"What happened?"
He crossed to where I sat, lowered himself to the floor beside me. For a moment, he just breathed. Collecting himself. Finding words.
"The decision has been postponed," he said finally. "No immediate action on the ferals. The review is extended."
Relief flooded through me. "That's good. That's—"
"There's more." Neal turned to look at me. "The council has authorized an external security consultant. Someone to assess the threat level of the ferals and make recommendations for... handling them."
