Then he collapsed.
He lay on the floor, panting, his sides heaving with exhausted breaths. Blood matted the fur around his face. His eyes were still open—still watching me—but the frenzy had drained out of them.
He'd stopped. He hadn't wanted to stop. But he'd stopped.
"The sedation can wait," I said quietly. "He's done."
Rae looked at me for a long moment. Then she nodded.
I stayed at the window, my hand pressed against the glass, watching Stone breathe. His eyes never left my face. Even exhausted, even broken, he was watching me.
Behind me, Cole stood in silence. I'd almost forgotten he was there—almost—until I turned and found him watching me with an expression I couldn't read.
Not clinical anymore. Not detached.
Something else.
"Does this happen often?" he asked. His voice was softer than before. Still quiet, still controlled, but with an edge that hadn't been there earlier.
"Less than it used to."
"But it still happens."
"Yes."
Cole nodded slowly. His eyes moved from Stone's prone form to me. Lingered on my face in a way that made my skin warm.
"Thank you for the tour, Ms. Whitaker," he said finally. "I have what I need for now."
He left without another word. Twilson scurried after him, already talking—explaining, justifying, filling the silence Cole refused to fill.
Rae moved to stand beside me at the window.
"He's going to recommend termination," I said. "Isn't he?"
"I don't know." Rae's voice was careful. "He's difficult to read."
I watched Stone through the glass. His breathing was evening out. The worst was over—for now.
"He barely looked at them," I said. "The whole tour. He barely looked at the ferals."
"What do you mean?"
"He was watching me." I turned to face Rae. "Every room we went into. Every question he asked. He wasn't evaluating them. He was evaluating me."
Rae was quiet for a moment. Her expression flickered—surprise, maybe, or concern.
"What are you suggesting?"
"I don't know." I looked back at Stone. At his battered body, his exhausted eyes, his absolute refusal to give up even when giving up would have been easier. "But the consultant isn't here to judge the ferals."
I pressed my palm against the glass one more time.
"He's here to evaluate me."
And somewhere in the back of my mind, beneath the worry and the exhaustion and the fear for Stone's future, a different thought surfaced.
Those amber eyes. That quiet voice. The way he'd looked at me when Stone finally collapsed.
