They had.
No one in this room had forgotten the sight of Ashcroft tearing through Dane and his men, nor the way our wolves had remained in perfect control amid the chaos.
“You asked me here for a statement,” he went on. “Here it is. I was bitten and declared dead because it was convenient. I was dumped in a place you use as a dumping ground and leftthere alone, confused, and unarmed. And this has happened not just to me, but to countless others before and after me.”
A councilor cleared his throat. “You’re asking us to dismantle existing security measures?—”
“I’m asking you to stop sentencing wolves to exile or death before they even have the chance to live,” Bishop said.
Mirae looked almost pleased.
The questioning went on in circles for a long while. Hours of officials probing and trying to find a way to trim the edges off what they’d seen. Bishop and Eamon answered clearly and concisely without giving them any room to wiggle.
Eventually, someone said what needed saying.
“The feral exiling program is, as of now, suspended,” one of the councilors finally declared.
“Thank you,” Bishop replied and the rest of us nodded along with satisfied smiles.
After the session adjourned, people filtered out in pairs and trios, voices quiet as they talked together. Eamon gathered his folder, looking a bit tired. Mirae ghosted away to wherever she’d come from.
Bishop stayed where he was.
His father approached him slowly, as if unsure whether Bishop would bolt or bite. Neither seemed particularly likely, but I understood the hesitation.
“I don’t know how to… begin,” his father said.
“Try with the truth,” Bishop replied.
“I believed them,” the older man said. “When they told me you’d died, I believed them.”
“I know,” Bishop said.
His father flinched. “I should have asked more questions.”
“Yes,” Bishop said. Then, after a moment, “You still can.”
His father’s shoulders sagged. “Can you forgive?—”
“It’s going to take some time,” Bishop replied, gentle but firm.
His father nodded once and stepped back.
Tamsin touched my arm. “We should go,” she murmured.
I looked around the room, at the officials still pretending not to be shaken, at Bishop standing straighter than any of them, and at the space Ashcroft wasn’t occupying anymore.
“Yeah,” I said. “We should.”
We stepped out into the corridor together, the air cooler, the city humming beyond the stone.
We hadn’t fixed everything. Not even close.
But the lie London had been built on had died on that floor with Ashcroft, and in this room, we’d just made sure it stayed dead. The rest, we’d handle one piece at a time.
CHAPTER 32
Afew days later…
