"He was involved," Stone said. Not a question.
"He was more than involved. He was coordinating transfers. Selecting subjects." Cole's jaw worked. "According to what the enforcers found, Twilson was one of Emory's primary recruiters. He identified wolves at Frosthaven—wolves who were 'too strong,' 'too independent,' 'too resistant to authority'—and arranged for them to be transferred to research facilities."
"Where they were turned into ferals," I said.
"Where they were experimented on. Some became feral. Others..." Cole shook his head. "The records are incomplete. We may never know exactly how many wolves went through that program. Or what happened to all of them."
The room was heavy with silence.
I looked around at the faces of my pack, my family. James's expression was thunderous. Neal looked sick. Cal had gone pale and quiet. Stone was staring at nothing, his hand still wrapped in mine, processing what he'd just learned.
The man who had been questioning my existence, demanding my removal, calling me a threat—he was the one who had helped create the feral crisis in the first place.
"That's why he was so afraid of me," I said slowly. "It wasn't just about Omegas threatening council power. It was about me potentially exposing what he'd done."
"The ferals respond to you," Cole confirmed. "They're calmer around you. More coherent. If they started recovering enough to remember what happened to them—to identify who was responsible—"
"Twilson would be exposed."
"Exactly."
Rae stood abruptly. Walked to the window. Stood there with her arms crossed, staring out at the darkening sky.
"Twenty-five years," she said quietly. "He's been at Frosthaven for twenty-five years. Teaching students. Running the Academy. And the whole time..."
"The whole time he was covering his tracks," Kane finished grimly. "Making sure no one looked too closely. Positioning himself to control the narrative if anyone ever got close to the truth."
"And when an Omega emerged—someone who could actually help the ferals recover—his first instinct was to eliminate the threat." Kade shook his head. "Just like Emory taught him."
"Is it enough?" I asked.
Everyone turned to look at me.
"The evidence," I clarified. "Is it enough to actually hold him? To make sure he can't wriggle out of this?"
Vince nodded. "We think so. The transfer authorizations alone are damning—they're in his handwriting, with his signature. Combined with the treatment notes and the European documents, it paints a clear picture."
"But?"
"But Twilson has allies. People who benefited from Emory's regime and would prefer certain things stay buried." Vince's expression was grim. "This isn't over. He'll fight. He'll try to discredit the evidence, claim it was planted, argue that he was just following orders."
"Following orders to torture wolves into madness?" James's voice was a growl. "That's his defense?"
"I didn't say it was a good defense. I said he'll try."
Luca emerged from the kitchen doorway. "Dinner's ready. But I'm guessing no one's hungry anymore."
"I am," Alexandra announced, squirming in Ash's arms. "I want pasta."
Despite everything—the revelations, the anger, the weight of what we'd just learned—I found myself smiling. Leave it to a three-year-old to cut through the tension.
"Let's eat," Rae said, turning from the window. "We can discuss next steps over dinner. And maybe—" She looked at me. "Maybe we can find something to be grateful for. Twilson is in custody. The truth is coming out. That's more than we had a week ago."
We filed into the dining room. The table was set for a crowd—Rae's pack, my pack, too many people for the space but somehow making it work. I ended up squeezed between Stone and James, with Cole across from me and Neal beside Cal.
Luca had outdone himself. Pasta with homemade sauce, fresh bread, a salad that actually looked appetizing. Comfort food for a night when comfort felt impossible.
We ate in relative silence at first. Too much to process. Too many emotions swirling beneath the surface.
