Chapter 8
Chapter eight
The council's response came three days after Stone's breakdown.
Rae called me to her office to deliver the news.
She looked exhausted—dark circles under her eyes, hair escaping from its usual neat bun.
Alexandra's latest drawing was taped to her desk, a crayon family portrait with a purple wolf in the corner.
Under different circumstances, I would have asked about it.
"The council is requiring a full assessment of the feral program," Rae said. "Given what happened with Stone, they want documentation. Protocols. Proof that we're handling this responsibly."
"It was an accident." The words came out sharper than I intended. "No one could have predicted a staff member would trip and throw a tray at a sleeping feral. That's not a failure of the program."
"I know that. You know that." Rae sighed. "The council sees a feral who gravely injured two people. They want answers."
"Stone isn't a liability. He's recovering. He was recovering until—"
"Lumi." Her voice was gentle. "I'm on your side. But the council doesn't care about context. They care about risk."
I bit back the argument rising in my throat. She was right. It didn't make it easier to swallow.
"Cole's been asked to conduct the inspection and submit the report," she continued.
I nodded. That tracked. He'd been evaluating everything since he arrived anyway.
"There's a complication," Rae continued.
I waited.
"Twilson has requested to assist with the inspection personally."
The name landed like a stone in still water.
"Why?"
"He claims it's standard procedure. The Frosthaven Academy administrator needs to participate in reviews of high-risk programs." Rae's jaw tightened. "But Twilson doesn't do anything without an agenda. And we both know what his agenda is here."
"When does the inspection start?"
"Tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock." Rae held my gaze. "He's going to want to observe you with the ferals."
"So I'm part of the assessment."
"You're part of everything now, Lumi. Whether we like it or not."
I didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Stone caught between forms. Heard Cal's bones crack under those massive claws. Felt the moment when recognition had finally flickered back into Stone's golden eyes.
And underneath it all, the gnawing certainty that Twilson was coming to try and banish the ferals.
By the time my alarm went off at six, I'd been staring at the ceiling for hours.
Ivy watched me get dressed with worried eyes. "You look like hell."
"Thanks."
"I mean it. Did you sleep at all?"
"Some." A lie. She knew it was a lie. I didn't care.
"Lumi—"
"I have to go." I grabbed my bag. "The inspection starts at eight. I can't be late."
She caught my arm as I passed. "Be careful. Okay?"
"Always."
Another lie. She let me go anyway.
The Healing Center felt different that morning.
The staff moved with nervous energy, straightening things that were already straight, checking equipment that didn't need checking. Everyone knew what was coming. Everyone was on edge.
Cole was waiting in the main corridor when I arrived.
He looked like he hadn't slept either. The lines around his eyes were deeper, his jaw tight with tension. But his posture was perfect—straight-backed, controlled, every inch the professional security coordinator.
"Miss Orlav." His voice was formal. Distant.
"Mr. Cole."
Something flickered in his eyes. Gone before I could name it.
"The headmaster will arrive shortly. I need to brief you on what to expect."
"Twilson."
"Yes." His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "He'll want to observe your interactions with the ferals. Document everything. Ask questions."
"What kind of questions?"
"I don't know yet. But—" He paused. Looked around to make sure we were alone. "Be careful what you say."
Before I could push further, footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Twilson had arrived.
He always looked exactly the same. Tall, silver-haired, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than a semester's tuition. His face was handsome in a cold way—sharp cheekbones, thin lips, pale gray eyes that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.
Those eyes found me immediately.
"Miss Orlav." His voice was smooth. It made something in my gut twist
Cole stepped slightly closer to me. Not obviously. Just enough that I felt his presence at my shoulder.
"The inspection will begin with the recovery wing," Cole said. His voice was perfectly neutral. "I'll escort you through each section and provide documentation on our current protocols."
"Excellent." Twilson's gaze lingered on me for a moment longer. "And Miss Orlav will accompany us?"
"As requested."
The first hour was tolerable.
Cole led us through the Healing Center with clinical efficiency, explaining security measures, containment protocols, emergency procedures. He had documentation for everything—charts, logs, incident reports. His preparation was flawless. He checked every protocol off on a checklist.
Twilson listened. Nodded. Made notes in a leather-bound journal he carried.
And watched me.
I felt his attention like a weight on my skin. Every time I moved, his eyes tracked. Every time I spoke, he wrote something down. It was obvious.
I was being catalogued.
Assessed.
Studied.
"All of the feral patients are housed in this wing now," Cole said, stopping outside a heavy door. "Access is restricted to authorized personnel only. All interactions are monitored and recorded."
"Show me," Twilson said.
Cole keyed in the access code. The door swung open.
Gray was the first one I saw.
He was sitting in the common area, knees drawn up, eyes fixed on the floor. But the moment I stepped through the door, his head came up. His nostrils flared.
And he smiled.
It was small. Barely visible. But it was there—a flicker of recognition, of relief, of something that looked almost like joy.
"Gray," I said softly.
He rose. Crossed the room in quick, careful steps. Stopped two feet away from me, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off his body.
Then he sat down at my feet.
Just like he had during the run. Like a dog greeting its owner. Like a wolf acknowledging its alpha.
Behind me, I heard Twilson's pen scratch against paper.
"Fascinating," he murmured. "Does he always respond to you this way?"
"Usually."
"And the others?"
As if on cue, the other feral, the one we started calling Ben—the sandy-haired one who'd knelt before me in the clearing—appeared in the doorway of his room. His eyes found me. Widened.
He whined.
The sound was high and desperate, the same noise he'd made during the run. He took a step toward me, then another, his whole body straining in my direction.
One of the staff moved to intercept him.
"Let him come," I said.
Ben crossed the room and dropped to his knees beside Gray. Both of them pressed close to my legs, their bodies trembling with something that felt like relief.
Twilson wrote faster.
"Hmmm, I wonder what you have done to them Ms. Orlav." His voice was clinical. Detached. "They respond to you almost instinctively. Like a biological imperative."
He made another note. "And the bonded ones? Stone and Cal? How do they respond to your presence?"
The question felt like a trap.
"You'd have to ask them," I said carefully.
"I intend to." Twilson smiled. "But first, I'd like to observe you with Stone specifically. Given the recent... incident, I think it's important to understand the full scope of your influence."
My stomach dropped.
Stone knew something was wrong the moment we entered his room.
He was sitting on the edge of his bed, hands clasped between his knees, body rigid with tension. His eyes found mine first—a flash of relief, of hunger, of desperate need.
Then they moved to Twilson.
And went gold.
"Easy," I said softly. "It's okay. He's just here to observe."
Stone's jaw clenched. The gold in his eyes flickered but didn't fade. I felt his wolf pressing against the surface, agitated by the presence of this unknown threat.
"Mr. Stone." Twilson's voice was pleasant. Measured. "How are you feeling today?"
No answer.
"I understand you had a difficult episode recently. I’m concerned about your stability."
Still nothing. But Stone's hands had tightened on his knees, knuckles going white.
"Perhaps Miss Orlav could demonstrate her calming technique?" Twilson looked at me. "I'd like to see how you bring him back from the edge."
"He's not on the edge."
"His eyes suggest otherwise."
He wasn't wrong. Stone's pupils narrowing to slits. I could feel his control fraying through the bond—the wolf clawing at its cage, desperate to get out.
I moved toward him slowly. Carefully.
"Stone. Look at me."
His eyes snapped to mine.
"Just me. Focus on me."
I sat beside him on the bed. Close enough that our thighs touched. The contact seemed to ground him—I felt some of the tension drain from his body, the gold retreating slightly.
"That's it," I murmured. "I'm right here."
His hand found mine. Gripped hard enough to hurt.
Behind us, Twilson's pen never stopped moving.
The inspection continued for three more hours.
Twilson observed everything.
He asked questions constantly. Asshole.
I answered as carefully as I could. Gave him nothing concrete, nothing he could use. But I felt myself being stripped bare anyway—every word analyzed, every gesture catalogued, every moment filed away in that leather journal.
Cole stayed close throughout. Never interfering, but always present.
The ferals felt the tension.
By midday, all of them were restless. Gray paced the common area. Ben couldn't stop whining. Their eyes tracking Twilson's movements with barely concealed hostility.
"I need a break," I said finally.
Twilson looked up from his notes. "We're not finished."
"The ferals need rest. So do I." I kept my voice steady. "We can continue this afternoon."
For a moment, I thought he'd argue. Those pale eyes studied me, weighing something I couldn't see.
Then he smiled.
"Of course. We'll resume at two o'clock." He closed his journal. "I'll review my notes with Cole in the meantime."
He turned and walked away. Cole followed, but not before catching my eye.
I found Cole in the east corridor an hour later.
The hallway was empty—everyone at lunch or busy with afternoon preparations. He was standing by one of the reinforced windows, staring out at nothing, his whole body tight with tension.
"Cole."
He turned. Something flared in his eyes when he saw me—relief, concern, and underneath it all, that ever-present heat I couldn't ignore.
"What does he want this time?" I moved closer. "What is he really looking for?"
Cole's jaw worked. "I don't know."
"You're lying."
"I'm protecting you."
"From what?" I was close now. Close enough to see the pulse jumping in his throat. "From him? From the council? From myself?"
"All of it." His voice was strained. "Lumi, please. You need to trust me."
"How can I trust you when you won't tell me anything?"
He didn't answer. But he didn't step back either. We stood there, inches apart, the air between us crackling with something I couldn't name.
The bond pulsed.
It had been there all day—that quiet thread connecting us, humming with warning and want. But now it flared. Violently. A surge of heat so intense it stole my breath.
I gasped.
Cole made a sound low in his throat. His hands came up, hovering near my arms like he wanted to touch me but didn't dare.
"Lumi—"
"I feel it." My voice was barely a whisper. "Cole, what is this? What's happening between us?"
The bond pulsed again. Harder. I swayed toward him, pulled by something stronger than gravity.
His hands closed on my shoulders.
The contact was electric. Heat flooded through me, pooling low in my belly, making my skin flush and my breath come fast. I saw Cole's eyes darken, felt his fingers tighten on my flesh.
"We can't." His voice was wrecked. "Lumi, we can't do this."
"Why not?"
"Because I—" He broke off. Shuddered. "Because if I start, I won't be able to stop."
The bond roared between us. I felt his desire through it—fierce, desperate, barely leashed. He wanted me. Wanted me so badly it was tearing him apart.
And I wanted him too.
"Cole—"
He stepped back.
Physically wrenched himself away from me, putting three feet of distance between us. His chest heaved. His hands shook at his sides.
"I'm sorry." The words were ragged. "I can't. Not yet. Not until you know—"
"Know what?"
He opened his mouth.
"Am I interrupting?"
We both spun.
Twilson stood at the end of the corridor. His pale eyes moved between us—taking in Cole's flushed face, my rapid breathing, the charged air that still crackled between us.
His expression didn't change.
But something in his gaze sharpened. Focused.
"The afternoon session is about to begin," he said smoothly. "I trust you're both ready to continue?"
"Of course." Cole's voice was steady. Controlled. Only I could hear the strain underneath. "We were just discussing the schedule."
The afternoon was worse than the morning.
Twilson pushed harder. Asked sharper questions. Watched with an intensity that made my skin crawl.
And he watched Cole too.
Every interaction between us. Every glance, every word, every moment Cole positioned himself between me and potential danger. Twilson noticed all of it, his pale eyes tracking, his pen moving across the page.
By the time the inspection ended, I was exhausted.
The ferals were worse. Gray had retreated to his room and refused to come out. Stone had locked himself in his quarters, and I could feel him through the bond—hovering on the edge, fighting to keep the wolf contained.
"I think we have enough for today," Cole said finally. “I’ll escort you out Twilson.”