Their daughter. In the lap of the most unstable feral in the program.
"Okay, sweetheart." Ash moved forward slowly, his voice carefully casual even as his eyes tracked every micro-expression on RJ's face. "Time to come back to Daddy. We need to—"
RJ growled. Low. Deep. A warning sound that made the staff member by the door reach for his radio.
Ash froze.
Alexandra did not. She twisted around in RJ's lap and thumped him on the head with her small fist.
"Bad wolfie," she said sternly. "No growling. That's rude."
The silence that followed was absolute.
RJ stared at her. This tiny human who had just scolded him like an errant puppy. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. And then—impossibly—he laughed. It was rusty and broken, like a machine that hadn't been used in years. But it was a laugh. Real and genuine and utterly unexpected.
"Sorry," he managed. "I didn't mean to be rude."
"That's okay." Alexandra patted his cheek again, magnanimous in forgiveness. "You can make it up to me. Do you know any songs?"
"I... maybe. I think I might."
"Good. Sing me one."
RJ looked at me. Helpless. Lost. But underneath the confusion, there was something else. Something that looked almost like wonder.
"Go ahead," I said softly.
He cleared his throat. Hesitated. And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he began to hum. A simple melody. Nothing fancy. But familiar somehow—like something half-remembered from a dream.
Alexandra settled against his chest and listened, her eyes drifting closed.
Ash and Rae stood frozen by the door, watching. I saw Rae's hand find Ash's, their fingers interlacing. The humming continued.
The song ended. Alexandra had fallen asleep, her small body rising and falling with RJ's breath.
"I can take her now," Ash said quietly. "If you want."
RJ looked down at the sleeping child in his arms. Something in his expression shifted. Softened.
"She's okay," he said. "For a minute. She's okay."
Rae caught my eye across the room. I saw the tears she was fighting back. The hope she was afraid to feel.
This was what the new academy was for. Not just treatment. Not just containment. Moments like this. Wolves finding their way back to something human.
I told my mates about it that night.
We'd gathered at Cole's cabin—all five of them sprawled across the living room in various states of relaxation. James had claimed the couch. Neal sat in the armchair with a book. Cal was on the floor, back against the wall. Stone had positioned himself by the window, watching the moon rise.
And Cole was beside me, his hand resting on my knee, thumb tracing absent patterns on my skin.
"She just climbed into his lap?" James asked, incredulous.
"Like it was nothing. Like he was just another person to sit on."
"Children don't have the same fear responses," Neal mused. "They haven't learned to be afraid of the things adults fear."
"She thumped him on the head," I said. "Called him a bad wolfie."
