"He's not your mate. He's a feral wolf who—"
"He's my mate." The words came out fierce. Final. "The bond doesn't lie, James. It's incomplete, but it's there. I feel him. All the time. His pain and his fear and his desperate, stubborn refusal to let anyone help him." I swallowed hard. "He's dying because he's too scared to let me in. And I can't—I won't—let fear win. Not his. Not mine. Not yours."
James stared at me. Through me. The bond between us pulsed with everything he couldn't say—love and terror and a grief that hadn't happened yet but felt inevitable.
"I'll be right outside," he said finally. His voice was hoarse. Broken. "The second something goes wrong—the second you need me—I'm coming in."
"I know."
He pulled me against him. Held on tight. I felt his heart pounding against my chest, felt the tremor in his arms, felt everything he was trying to give me in that embrace.
Then he let go.
Neal stood at the control panel, his face drawn and bloodless, one hand hovering over the override switch. A massive syringe of sedative was tucked into his pocket, and his other hand kept opening and closing, a reflex he couldn’t seem to stop.
“Last chance to change your mind,” he said.
I looked through the observation window.
Stone was still lying in the corner. Still motionless. But his eyes were open now, watching me. Watching the people gathered outside his room.
"Open it," I said.
Neal entered the code. The barrier hummed, flickered, and went dark.
The door unlocked with a soft click.
I put my hand on the handle. Felt the cold metal against my palm. Felt Stone's presence on the other side—broken and dangerous and dying.
"Lumi." James's voice, one last time. "Please. Promise me you will call for help if you need it.”
“I promise.”
I didn't look back.
I opened the door.
I stepped inside.
Alone.
Chapter twenty-four
The door closed behind me with a loud click.
The sound was final. Absolute. The kind of sound that divided time into before and after.
I stood perfectly still, my back against the door, and let my eyes adjust to the room.
It was smaller than it had looked from outside. The observation window had created distance—enough separation to make Stone’s space feel contained. Clinical. But standing inside, surrounded by the same walls he'd been trapped in for weeks, everything felt different.
Closer. Tighter. The air thick with something that wasn't quite smell but wasn't quite nothing either—the residue of fear and rage and desperation soaked into every surface.
Stone was in the corner where I'd last seen him through the glass. Still lying down. Still watching.
But different now.
His head had lifted when I entered. His ears were forward. Every line of his body had shifted from exhaustion to alertness, and his golden eyes tracked me with an intensity that made my heart stutter.
