James felt something too. I saw it in the way he studied Cole, cataloging, assessing.
"We should go," James said. "Lumi has somewhere to be."
Cole nodded once. "See you soon, then."
He walked away.
James watched him go, then turned to me. "Security consultant sure likes to keep you in his line of sight."
"He's doing his job."
"Is he?" James's voice was light, but his eyes weren't.
I stopped at Cal's room first.
He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, a book open in his lap. Dark hair falling across his forehead, longer than it should be, curling at the ends. When he looked up and saw me, his face broke into a genuine smile.
That smile. It still caught me off guard—how human it was. How warm.
"Lumi." He set the book aside. "Come here."
Not a request. A command, soft but certain. The wolf underneath, even when he was at his most human.
I crossed to him, and he caught my wrist before I could sit. Tugged me closer. His fingers were rough, callused, warm against my pulse point.
"How are you feeling?" I asked.
"Better now." His thumb traced a circle on the inside of my wrist. His eyes—dark brown, almost black—tracked up my arm, my shoulder, my throat. Landed on my mouth. "Really good, actually."
Heat pooled low in my stomach.
"I finished three chapters today," he said, still holding my wrist. "Only lost focus twice."
That was progress. A month ago, Cal couldn't hold a thought long enough to read a paragraph.
He tugged again, and I sat on the edge of his bed. Close. His thigh pressed warm against mine.
"What are you reading?"
"Mystery." He held up the book so I could see the cover—a detective novel, well-worn. His other hand stayed on me, sliding from my wrist to rest on my knee. Possessive. Easy. Like touching me was his right. "Neal recommended it. Said following clues is good for the brain. Helps rebuild the pathways for tracking details, remembering sequences."
"Is it working?"
"I figured out who the killer was by chapter four." A hint of pride in his voice. "Neal owes me five dollars."
I laughed. Cal and Neal had gotten close these past weeks—the healer and the healing, finding common ground I hadn't expected. Neal brought him books. Cal made Neal laugh. It was good. Easy. One small bright spot in all of this.
"Any memories today?"
"Bits and pieces." His expression flickered—something complicated moving beneath the surface. His hand tightened on my knee. "I remembered a classroom yesterday. Rows of desks, sunlight through windows. I think I was a student somewhere."
I covered his hand with mine. "We're still trying to find your records."
"I know." He turned his hand over, laced his fingers through mine. His grip was strong. Grounding. "Stone's having a hard day."
It wasn't a question. Through the bonds that connected all of us, Cal could feel Stone's struggle the same way I could.
"Yeah," I said. "He is."
