"And the others?"
As if on cue, the other feral, the one we started calling Ben—the sandy-haired one who'd knelt before me in the clearing—appeared in the doorway of his room. His eyes found me. Widened.
He whined.
The sound was high and desperate, the same noise he'd made during the run. He took a step toward me, then another, his whole body straining in my direction.
One of the staff moved to intercept him.
"Let him come," I said.
Ben crossed the room and dropped to his knees beside Gray. Both of them pressed close to my legs, their bodies trembling with something that felt like relief.
Twilson wrote faster.
"Hmmm, I wonder what you have done to them Ms. Orlav." His voice was clinical. Detached. "They respond to you almost instinctively. Like a biological imperative."
He made another note. "And the bonded ones? Stone and Cal? How do they respond to your presence?"
The question felt like a trap.
"You'd have to ask them," I said carefully.
"I intend to." Twilson smiled. "But first, I'd like to observe you with Stone specifically. Given the recent... incident, I think it's important to understand the full scope of your influence."
My stomach dropped.
Stone knew something was wrong the moment we entered his room.
He was sitting on the edge of his bed, hands clasped between his knees, body rigid with tension. His eyes found mine first—a flash of relief, of hunger, of desperate need.
Then they moved to Twilson.
And went gold.
"Easy," I said softly. "It's okay. He's just here to observe."
Stone's jaw clenched. The gold in his eyes flickered but didn't fade. I felt his wolf pressing against the surface, agitated by the presence of this unknown threat.
"Mr. Stone." Twilson's voice was pleasant. Measured. "How are you feeling today?"
No answer.
"I understand you had a difficult episode recently. I’m concerned about your stability."
Still nothing. But Stone's hands had tightened on his knees, knuckles going white.
"Perhaps Miss Orlav could demonstrate her calming technique?" Twilson looked at me. "I'd like to see how you bring him back from the edge."
"He's not on the edge."
"His eyes suggest otherwise."
He wasn't wrong. Stone's pupils narrowing to slits. I could feel his control fraying through the bond—the wolf clawing at its cage, desperate to get out.
I moved toward him slowly. Carefully.
"Stone. Look at me."
