He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, perfectly still, watching the entrance with the patient focus of someone who had learned to wait.
He didn't smile when I entered. Didn't frown. Just watched.
And something in my chest flickered.
Not the bond—not any of my bonds. Something else. Something I didn't have time to examine because Rae was already speaking.
"Miss Orlav. Thank you for joining us. This is Len Cole, the security consultant the council has retained to assess our current situation."
Len Cole. The name suited him somehow. Short. Direct. No wasted syllables.
"Mr. Cole." I kept my voice steady. Extended my hand. "Welcome to the Healing Center."
His hand engulfed mine when he took it. Warm. Callused. He held on for exactly the right amount of time—not too long, not too brief—and his grip was firm without being aggressive. Up close, I could see his eyes were a dark amber, almost bronze. The kind of eyes that probably looked gold in certain light.
He said nothing. Just nodded once, his gaze moving over my face like he was cataloging details for later.
I became suddenly, irritatingly aware of the shadows under my eyes. The way my clothes hung looser than they should. The fact that I'd pulled my hair back in a messy knot without checking a mirror.
Why did I care? I didn't care. This man was here to potentially recommend the execution of the wolves I'd been fighting to save. His cheekbones were irrelevant.
Twilson cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should begin the tour? Mr. Cole has requested a comprehensive overview of the facility and its... residents."
"I'd like Miss Orlav to accompany us." Cole's voice was low. Quiet. The kind of voice that didn't need volume to command attention—it just expected to be heard, and it was. "If she's available."
It wasn't really a question.
"Of course," I said.
The tour began in the administrative wing.
Cole moved through the space like he was cataloging it—noting exits, measuring distances, assessing sight lines. He asked few questions, and the ones he did ask were directed at Rae. Staffing levels. Security protocols. Emergency procedures.
His voice never rose above that same quiet tone. His expression never changed. He listened to Rae's answers with patient attention and offered nothing in return.
I walked beside them, silent, watching him watch everything.
He moved well for someone his size. No wasted motion. No sound. When we passed through doorways, he turned slightly to accommodate his shoulders, but the adjustment was automatic, unconscious. Like his body had long ago learned to navigate a world built for smaller people.
He didn't take notes. Didn't carry a tablet or a recorder. Just observed, those amber eyes moving constantly, missing nothing.
"The patient wings are through here," Rae said as we approached a security checkpoint. "Standard containment for bond trauma cases on the left. The feral subjects are housed in the east wing."
Cole nodded. Said nothing.
We moved into the east wing.
The first room held all of Cal's packmates—they did better when kept in the same room. The gray wolf was curled in the corner when we approached, his body tense.
Then he noticed me through the observation window.
His head lifted. His ears came forward. The tension in his body eased—not completely, but noticeably. He rose to his feet and padded toward the door, his eyes fixed on my face.
I felt Rae glance at me. Felt Cole's attention sharpen.
"He's been showing consistent improvement," Rae said. "Decreased aggression, increased responsiveness to environmental stimuli. He's the most stable of the group."
Cole's eyes moved from the wolf to me. Back to the wolf. Then to me again.
