"Good." He pulled me closer. "Now sleep. We can figure out the rest tomorrow."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to think about what Neal had found, what it meant, what I was supposed to do with the knowledge that my presence alone could heal broken wolves.
But James was warm. The bond hummed with satisfaction. And exhaustion was dragging me under.
I slept.
The dream started in white.
White walls. White floor. White ceiling. So bright it hurt to look at, like staring into a blank void.
I was standing in a hallway. Doors on either side, all of them closed. The air smelled like antiseptic and fear.
Wolves.
I could hear them. Behind the doors. Whimpering, snarling, howling. The sounds blended together into a chorus of anguish that made my skin crawl.
I started walking.
The first door had a window. I looked through it.
A wolf lay strapped to a table.
It saw me.
The howl that ripped from its throat was the most agonized sound I'd ever heard.
I ran to the next door. Another window. Another wolf.
This one was worse.
Half-shifted. Caught between forms like Stone had been. Its body twisted and jerked against the restraints, bones cracking and reforming in a cycle that never ended. A figure in white stood beside it, making notes on a clipboard.
Taking data.
I screamed.
No sound came out.
The third door. The fourth. The fifth. More wolves. More needles. More pain.
And then—
The white exploded into screaming.
I woke up gasping.
James was still beside me, still asleep, his arm draped over my waist. The room was dark. Safe.
It was just a dream.
Except it didn't feel like a dream. It felt like a memory. Someone else's memory, bleeding through into my mind.
I lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, trying to slow my racing heart.
Wolves in white rooms. Needles. Screaming.
Neal found me the next morning.
