Dalton is looking at his coffee.
Jon is quiet for a moment. "And the others," he says. "The ones at Feral Academy. How many total."
"Five bonded," I say. "And I have a sixth that I’ve felt a bond flare with."
He nods slowly. "Tell me about them. The other bonded ones."
"Leo was first," I say. "Red House. He's—" I think about how to describe Leo to Jon, who has never met him and whose frame of reference is Luftis and Copenhagen and the formal structures of European shifter academia. "He cracks jokes when things get heavy. He paced the corridor for three days after I was transferred."
"Second," Jon says.
"Gray. Gold House. He rejected the bond initially and then he didn't." I look at the treeline. "He's the one at Frosthaven now. You've seen him."
"The dark-haired student. Yes." Jon looks at Dalton. "And then you."
"And then me," Dalton says.
"Hallway collision," Jon says. "You told me. Both of you touching her simultaneously."
"Leo was behind her," Dalton says. "We both made contact at the same moment."
"Elegant," Jon says. "In a completely chaotic way." He looks back at me. "And the others. You said five total."
"Jake," I say. "And Jim. Jim is David's—" I stop.
Jon looks at Dalton.
Dalton nods once. Confirmation.
"Jim is David's name from before," I say. "Before the mountain. He's been remembering."
Jon is quiet for a moment. Something moves in his face that isn't the analytical thing — something more human than that, the man underneath the professor processing what it means that Dalton's missing brother turned out to be one of his mate's bonded pack.
"That's—" he starts.
"Yes," Dalton says.
Jon nods. Doesn't push it. "Five bonded," he says. "One waiting. And her other mates—"
"Her other mates," says a voice behind us.
We all turn.
Tomlinson is standing at the edge of the path, coffee in hand, jacket on. He's looking at Jon with the focused attention of a man who just heard something specific and is making sure he heard it correctly.
"Her other mates," he says again. Not a question this time. His eyes move to me. Then to Dalton.
Dalton’s face drains.
Not the professional mask dropping — something under it. The color goes out. His jaw sets. The stillness locks in — precise, controlled — the posture of a man who understands exactly what’s been overheard, what it means, and what he stands to lose.
The fear comes through the bond before I see it on his face — directed outward, toward me. Not for himself.
For me.
Jon steps forward. "Whatever you think you heard—"
"I heard it clearly," Tomlinson says. Still looking at Dalton. "You're bonded to her."
