They follow Percival and Kirwan down a corridor that smells faintly of old wood, patchouli, and, beneath it all, the unmistakable tinge of decay.
The tribunal hall is…beige. It’s unwelcoming and designed like a room meant for quarterly budgets and awkward applause, with a podium and a whiteboard pushed off to the side.
It’s full of people, the low din of voices setting Grayson’s wolf on edge.
Grayson’s eyes snag on faces he knows. Knox Mehta sits with his white hair catching the fluorescent glare, not in his usual robes, but in a black suit and shirt that makes his almost-white eyes look brighter, sharper, like the light is coming from inside. He lifts a hand in a casual wave, no sign of concern on his handsome face. Augusta Shaw sits next to him, dressed in an earthy brown, serene as ever, offering Grayson a calm smile that feels like solid ground under his feet.
Even Professor Bixby is here. He offers a quick smile and a thumbs-up, but it isn’t aimed at Grayson. It’s aimed at Nix, who chuckles under his breath, pleased as if he’s surprised, he’d made such a good impression yesterday. These are his teachers—allies, if not friends. And having them here hits Grayson so hard his eyes burn with it, gratitude and relief tangled together until he has to swallow down the sharpness in his throat and focus on not looking like he’s about to crack in front of people he respects and admires.
There are others from the staff, too. Some look uneasy, like they’re here because they were told to be. Others have the faint, avid stillness of spectators who came for the spectacle, or because Headmaster Percival likes an audience when he’s performing and calling it procedure.
And at the front, waiting where no one can miss it, is a single hardback wooden chair, isolated and alone.
Where everyone will watch Grayson’s integrity on trial.
His stomach turns hard and he wants to puke.
At the back of the room, though, there’s one face Grayson doesn’t recognize. A man pale as death, hawk-nosed, longspindly fingers folded as if he had all the time in the world. The smile he gives Grayson is slow and knowing, with the aura of a vulture waiting for its chance to pick some unfortunate creature’s bones clean.
Kirwan startles when she sees him.
She’s halfway to her chosen chair in the second row, aisle seat, like she’s as close as she could get with Grayson’s pack filling both front rows. Her eyes flick away from the man in the back, and she goes still, prey caught under the attention of a raptor.
“Alpha Rhodes, if you and your pack would sit here?” the assistant says, and the words cut clean through Grayson’s spiral.
“Thank you. What was your name?” Jay turns on the charm like a switch, dimples out, oozing the genuine charm that draws people to him everywhere he goes.
The assistant flushes bright pink but keeps his shoulders squared. “Oh. I’m Dermott. Dermott Flanders.”
“We appreciate the welcome, Dermott,” Jay says.
“Of course. Mr. Pearce, you should sit with your family, too,” Dermott suggests, completely ignoring the headmaster as he unnecessarily adjusts the lone chair. “The Truthseeker will be here soon. They’ll let you know what you need to do then, alright?”
Grayson feels Nix’s warm hand in his, pulling him down.
The headmaster turns to face the room, arms open in a strange welcome that Grayson feels is more excited than the occasion merits.
“Thank you all for coming. For decades, this institution has built itself on a foundation of honor and integrity. Every leader, educator, and student is bound by a shared desire for the very best standards of learning…”
Grayson tunes out Percival’s speech, knowing it’s all building toward the same thing: Grayson’s lies. His wolf paces in hischest as the knowledge settles that they’ve begun, and there is no turning back now.
Eyes closed, he tries to find the same sense of resigned calm he’d been in for most of the day. There’s a gentle pressure in his head. A warm flow that feels like the first step in a hot bath or standing in the lone strip of sunshine on a cold winter morning.
Do you consent?
Grayson’s eyes flash open, and he turns toward the door. Leaning on the still-open door jamb is a young woman. She could be anywhere between fifteen and twenty-five, her light green eyes bright in her brown face.
Hello? Wakey wakey. You there?Her eyebrows go up, and she looks a little like Gideon does when he can’t believe he’s having to ask his question twice.
So he nods.
Was that a yes, you’re there, or yes, you consent? You have to say so, or this doesn’t work, dude.Her laugh is loud in his head, like the tinkling of bells.If you hurry up, we can do this before he’s finished.
Grayson smiles too. Her humor is contagious.Yeah.The pressure grows a bit, and it’s not uncomfortable, but he flinches.Wait!
She rolls her eyes and makes a get on with it gesture with her hand.
Nix flinches beside him and turns his head toward the door. “Oh. Who…” he whispers. “Whoa. Okay.”
