"An external consultant." I felt the relief drain away. "Meaning someone outside Rae's authority. Someone who doesn't answer to her."
"Yes."
"Someone Twilson chose?"
"I don't know. Maybe." Neal ran a hand through his hair. "The council was split. Half of them wanted to hear more about the historical records. The other half wanted the whole thing buried. The consultant was a compromise—a way to delay the decision without anyone having to commit to a position."
"What did you say? In the executive session?"
Neal was quiet for a moment. Then: "I said that before we decide what to do with them, we need to understand whatwas done to them. I said that these wolves might have been students here. That there are records suggesting they were deliberately damaged. That if that's true—if any of it is true—then eliminating them wouldn't just be killing ferals. It would be destroying evidence."
"How did they react?"
"Werrow listened. Some of the others listened. Twilson..." Neal shook his head. "Twilson looked like he wanted me to disappear. Like I'd just made myself a very inconvenient problem."
I thought about Twilson's office. His careful words. His barely concealed fear.
"He knows something," I said. "He has to know something. The way he looked when you mentioned the historical records—"
"Maybe. Or maybe he's just afraid of what we might find." Neal leaned his head back against the wall. "Either way, we've bought time. And they can't make any decisions until the consultant files a report."
"Who is the consultant?"
"I don't know yet. They're supposed to arrive within the week."
Within the week. A stranger coming to assess Stone, to assess all of them, to decide whether they were worth saving or too dangerous to live.
I stood. My legs were stiff from sitting on the cold floor.
"I need to see Stone," I said.
Chapter twenty-two
He arrived on a Tuesday.
I was in Stone's room when the notification came through—a soft chime on the tablet Neal had given me, followed by a message from Rae:Security consultant has arrived. Please meet us in the main lobby. 10 minutes.
Stone's ears twitched. He'd been calmer today, lying near the barrier while I read aloud from a history textbook. Not peaceful, exactly—Stone was never peaceful—but something closer to settled than I'd seen in weeks.
I felt it through the bond when I stood to leave. A flicker of unease. Not quite fear, not quite anger. Something in between.
"I'll be back," I said quietly. "As soon as I can."
His golden eyes followed me to the door. The unease in the bond didn't fade.
The main lobby of the Healing Center was designed to feel welcoming. Soft lighting. Comfortable chairs. Plants in corners. It was the kind of space meant to put visitors at ease, to make them forget they were standing at the entrance to a facility that housed some of the most damaged minds in the territory.
Today, it felt like a stage.
Rae stood near the reception desk, her posture perfect, her expression carefully neutral. Beside her, Twilson hovered like a shadow—present but not quite participating, his eyes darting between the door and Rae's face.
And in the center of the room, waiting, was the consultant.
He was enormous.
That was the first thing I noticed—the sheer size of him. Tall enough that he made the lobby feel smaller just by standing in it, with shoulders broad enough to block a doorway. He wasn't bulky the way some large men were, all show muscle and swagger. He was built like something functional. Like a weapon someone had designed for efficiency rather than display.
Dark hair, cut short. No gray—he was younger than I'd expected, maybe early thirties, though something in his stillness made him seem older. His face was all sharp angles and clean lines, like someone had stripped away anything unnecessary and left only what worked. Strong jaw. Straight nose. Cheekbones that caught the light in a way that made my brain stutter for half a second. I hadn’t slept in days, was running on adrenaline and stubbornness, and I still noticed. Which annoyed me almost as much as it concerned me.
