Messy and imperfect and still figuring itself out, but family nonetheless.
"Spring," Neal said quietly, appearing beside me. "It feels like a long time from now."
"It'll go fast."
"You think so?"
I looked around the room. At the wolves who'd been broken and were slowly learning to be whole. At the men who'd bound themselves to me and were building something none of us had expected.
"Yeah," I said. "I think so."
Rae appeared in the doorway. She looked exhausted but satisfied, the weight of the day finally starting to ease.
"The council wants regular progress reports," she said. "Monthly updates on the ferals, quarterly assessments of the sanctuary's development. They're taking this seriously."
"Good."
"And they want to discuss your formal role next week. Something with actual authority, not just 'consultant' or 'advisor.'" She raised an eyebrow. "Any thoughts on what you want that to look like?"
I considered. "I want to be involved in everything. Treatment plans, facility design, staffing decisions. But I don't want to be in charge of anyone. That's not... that's not what an Omega does."
"What does an Omega do?"
"Anchors. Supports. Holds things together so other people can do their jobs." I met her eyes. "I'm not a leader. But I can be a foundation."
Rae smiled. "I think the council can work with that."
Chapter twenty-two
The therapy circle looked calm.
Eight chairs arranged in the common room, soft lighting, Neal leading the session with careful, measured tones. Two staff members positioned near the doors—not obvious, but present. Standard protocol.
I sat outside the circle, observing. We'd been documenting these group interactions for weeks, building data on what worked and what didn't.
So far, the answer was mostly "didn't."
"Let's try the grounding exercise again," Neal said. "Five things you can see. Four things you can hear. Three things you can feel."
The ferals responded with varying degrees of engagement. Gray participated earnestly, his voice still rough but growingstronger with each session. Ben counted on his fingers, lips moving silently. Another went through the motions.
And then there was RJ.
He sat at the edge of the circle, chair angled slightly away from the group. His posture was rigid—shoulders hunched, hands gripping his knees, every muscle coiled tight. His eyes never settled. They tracked the exits constantly, flicking from the main door to the windows to the service entrance like he was mapping escape routes.
He hadn't spoken once in the three sessions I'd observed.
Stone was there too.
He'd started attending these groups a few weeks ago—not as a patient anymore, but as something between peer support and silent guardian. He sat across the circle from RJ, quieter than usual, his attention fixed on the other wolf with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
He saw something. I wasn't sure what yet.
"Would anyone like to share something from this week?" Neal asked. "A memory that surfaced, a moment of clarity, anything that felt significant?"
Silence.
Then Gray shifted forward.
