Stone's head snapped toward the sound.
I watched it happen—the way every muscle in his body went rigid at once. His shoulders bunched, the tendons in his neck standing out like cords. His jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jump beneath his beard.
The wolf surged up behind his eyes. His lips pulled back, exposing teeth. A sound escaped him that wasn't quite human—low, guttural, a warning from something ancient and feral.
The staff member froze. The tray rattled in her hands.
"Stone." I kept my voice low, steady, letting it carry through the bond like a lifeline. "It's okay. It's just breakfast. She's leaving."
The staff member backed out, pale-faced, pulling the door shut behind her.
Stone shuddered. His breath came in ragged bursts.
The wolf retreated—slowly, reluctantly, claws scraping as it pulled back from the surface.
I moved to him without thinking. Sat beside him on the bed and placed my hand on his back, smoothing my palm over the warm expanse of muscle. I felt the tension coiled there—his whole body wound tight as a spring, ready to snap.
His muscles twitched under my touch but didn't soften.
I kept my hand there anyway, tracing slow circles between his shoulder blades. His skin was fever-hot, his heart pounding so hard I could feel it in his ribs.
"You stopped," I said quietly. "You heard her come in, and you stopped."
He dropped his head into his hands, breathing hard.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"
"You didn't do anything." I let my hand slide up to the back of his neck, fingers brushing the hair at his nape. Still rigid. Still holding on so tight it had to hurt. "You stopped, Stone."
"Barely."
"Stopping is what matters."
He exhaled slowly. Some of the tension bled out of his shoulders—not much, but enough that I noticed.
"It only becomes bearable when you're here," he said quietly. "When you touch me. When I can smell you." He shook his head,like he didn't understand it himself. "The noise in my head goes quiet. The wolf stops clawing. For a few minutes, I can just... breathe."
I didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know why my presence worked when nothing else did.
He was quiet for a long moment. I felt the turmoil through the bond—shame, frustration, exhaustion, and underneath it all, a fear that never quite went away.
"Everyone thinks the breakthrough was healing," he said finally. "They think I'm better now. Getting better."
"Aren't you?"
"I don't know." He lifted his head, met my eyes. The gold was brighter when he was struggling—closer to the surface. "Being human isn't... it isn't relief, Lumi. It's exposure. Everything I couldn't feel before, I feel now. Everything I couldn't remember, I remember. And I don't know how to carry it."
My throat tightened.
Humanity had given him his mind back. It had also given him his pain.
"You don't have to carry it alone," I said.
"I know." He looked away. "That's the problem."
I didn't understand. Before I could ask, he stood. Moved to the window. Put distance between us.
"I can hold it," he said quietly. "The wolf. The memories. All of it. I just... don't know for how long."
