"We had someone like that. Back before." Stone's voice dropped even lower. "In the facility. Remember the counting game? When the lights went out and we couldn't see, so we'd count each other's breaths to make sure everyone was still there?"
RJ went rigid.
The whole room went rigid.
I didn't know what Stone was talking about. Didn't know what memories he was reaching for. But RJ knew. I could see it in the way his body changed—the aggression draining out of him, replaced by something rawer. Older.
Recognition.
"You were the one who always lost count," Stone said. "Kept starting over. Drove everyone crazy."
RJ made another sound. This one was almost a laugh, if a laugh could be made of broken glass.
"They didn't make it." Stone's voice hardened slightly. Not aggressive—grounded. "Most of them. But you did. And so did I. And that has to mean something, or what was the point?"
RJ was shaking now. His whole body trembling like a leaf in a storm. The gold in his eyes flickered—surging forward, then receding, then surging again.
Stone didn't move.
He stood there, solid and certain, his posture radiating something I could only describe as controlled dominance. Not the violent kind. Not the kind that demanded submission through fear. The kind that said: I am here. I am not moving. You can fall apart and I will still be here.
"Look at me." Stone's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Not the wolf. You. RJ. Look at me."
RJ's eyes met his.
The gold receded.
For a long moment, they just stood there. Two wolves who had survived the same hell, recognizing each other across the wreckage.
Then RJ's legs buckled.
He didn't fall—he folded. Sank to the floor in a controlled collapse, his body giving out now that the crisis had passed. He ended up on his knees, hands braced against the tile, breathing in harsh gasps that gradually slowed.
Stone lowered himself to the floor beside him.
Didn't touch. Didn't speak. Just sat there, close enough to be felt, far enough to not be a threat.
The room was silent.
The staff stood frozen, de-escalation scripts forgotten, staring at what had just happened. Gray had pressed himself against the far wall, Ben beside him, both of them wide-eyed and trembling.
Neal was the first to move.
He crossed to where I sat and crouched beside me, his voice barely audible. "Did you see that?"
"Yeah."
"Stone reached him. When nothing else worked—none of the protocols, none of the training—Stone just..." He shook his head. "He knew exactly what to say."
"Because he's been there." I watched Stone and RJ on the floor, two broken wolves finding something like solid ground in each other. "He knows what RJ is going through because he lived it."
"This can't be the solution every time." Neal's voice was troubled. "We can't rely on one wolf to manage every crisis. What happens when Stone isn't here? What happens when there are multiple wolves in distress at once?"
I didn't have an answer.
The staff finally unfroze. They moved carefully, giving Stone and RJ space, clearing the overturned furniture, guiding the other ferals out of the common room. Gray looked back over his shoulder as he left, his expression complicated—guilt and fear and something else I couldn't name.
Cal appeared in the doorway. He took in the scene with a single glance and moved to help, his presence calm and steady.
