Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
The preliminary hearing lasted four hours.
I sat in the back of the council chamber, flanked by Cole and James, watching the slow machinery of justice grind forward.
There was no drama this time. No shouting matches or explosive revelations.
Just documents passed between council members, quiet discussions, the occasional clarifying question.
Twilson sat at a table in the center of the room.
He'd been allowed to dress in his usual suit—a small dignity that felt out of place given the circumstances.
His face was blank. Controlled. But I could see the cracks underneath.
The slight tremor in his hands when he reached for his water glass.
The way his eyes darted to the exits every few minutes.
He knew how this was going to end.
The evidence was presented methodically.
First the documents Kane and Kade had retrieved from Europe—the fragmentary records of experimental programs, the references to transfer authorizations, the clinical language describing procedures that made my stomach turn.
Then the materials found in Twilson's office—his own handwriting, his own signatures, connecting him directly to the horrors that had created wolves like Stone.
A council member I didn't recognize read excerpts into the record.
Treatment notes describing subjects who "resisted conditioning" and required "enhanced protocols.
" Transfer forms for wolves whose names had been redacted but whose subject numbers matched records from known experimental facilities.
Correspondence with Emory herself, discussing "asset acquisition" and "program expansion. "
Twilson's defense attorney objected occasionally. Questioned chain of custody. Challenged authenticity. But the objections felt perfunctory, like even he knew they wouldn't change anything.
The vote came at the end.
Derrow called for it formally, her voice steady and clear. "All those in favor of removing Headmaster Twilson from his position at Frosthaven Academy, pending formal criminal proceedings?"
Hands rose around the chamber. I counted them automatically. Unanimous.
"All those opposed?"
Silence.
"The motion carries." Rae's gavel fell with a quiet finality. "Mr. Twilson, you are hereby stripped of your position and all associated privileges. You will remain in council custody until formal charges are filed."
Two enforcers moved forward. Twilson stood without being asked, his movements stiff and mechanical. They didn't cuff him—not here, not in front of everyone. But they flanked him closely as he walked toward the side door.
He paused at the threshold.
For a moment, I thought he would say something. Make some final declaration, some attempt to justify what he'd done. His eyes found mine across the chamber, and I saw the hatred there, undimmed by defeat.
But he didn't speak.
He just turned and walked through the door, the enforcers close behind.
It was over.
Not the whole thing—the formal trial would take months, maybe longer. There would be more hearings, more evidence, more legal maneuvering. But this part was done. Twilson was gone.
I waited for the triumph to hit. The satisfaction of watching the man who'd tried to destroy me led away in disgrace. The vindication of seeing justice served.
It didn't come.
I just felt tired.
The Council handled the remaining business efficiently. Tomlinson was named acting headmaster, a temporary appointment while the council conducted a proper search. He accepted with a brief nod, his expression suggesting he'd rather be anywhere else but understood the necessity.
"This institution needs stability," Derrow said. "Professor Tomlinson has the experience and the respect of both students and staff. He'll serve until a permanent replacement is found."
There were murmurs of approval. Tomlinson had earned a lot of goodwill with his performance at the earlier hearing—the way he'd challenged Twilson, forced him to reveal more than he'd intended. People trusted him.
The chamber emptied slowly. Everyone filed out in small groups, speaking in hushed tones.
Staff from the Academy lingered, processing what they'd witnessed.
The man who'd run their institution for twenty-five years had just been removed for crimes that most of them were only beginning to understand.
"You okay?" James asked quietly.
"Yeah." I stood, my legs stiff from sitting so long. "I just need some air."
We walked out of the administration building into the late afternoon sun. The campus looked the same as always—students crossing the quad, staff going about their business, the ordinary rhythm of Academy life continuing despite everything that had happened in the chamber behind us.
It felt strange. Disconnected. Like watching a movie of a place I used to know.
"It doesn't feel real," I said.
"It will." Cole fell into step beside me. "Give it time."
"I thought I'd feel... more. Happier. Something."
"You thought justice would feel like victory."
"Didn't it?"
Cole was quiet for a moment. "Justice is procedure. It's paperwork and votes and legal proceedings. Victory is something else." He looked at me. "What would victory feel like to you?"
I thought about it. Really thought.
"It would feel like Stone sleeping through the night," I said finally. "Like Gray speaking in full sentences. Like the ferals getting their lives back." I shook my head. "Twilson going to prison doesn't give them that. It's just... consequences. For him."
"Consequences matter."
"I know. But they're not enough."
We walked in silence for a while. The path curved toward the Healing Center, and I let my feet carry me there without really deciding to go. The bonds hummed in my chest—Stone was nearby, and some part of me always knew where he was now.
I found him in the east wing, standing at the window.
He didn't turn when I entered, but I felt his awareness of me through the bond. A warmth that had nothing to do with temperature.
"You heard?" I asked.
"Cole texted. Unanimous vote." His voice was flat. Careful. "He's really gone?"
"They're taking him to a holding facility. The trial won't be for months, but..." I moved to stand beside him. "He's not coming back."
Stone nodded slowly. His eyes stayed fixed on the window, watching the road that led away from campus.
We stood there together in silence. I didn't push. Didn't try to fill the quiet with words. Some moments needed space.
A black car appeared on the road below.
Council vehicle. Tinted windows. Moving at a steady pace toward the main gate.
Stone went rigid beside me.
I knew without asking that Twilson was in that car. Could feel Stone's certainty through the bond, the way his whole body oriented toward that vehicle like a compass needle finding north.
The car reached the gate. Paused for the security check. Then pulled through and disappeared around the bend in the road.
Gone.
Stone exhaled. "Watching him drive away should feel like more than this."
"What does it feel like?"
He was quiet for a long moment. "Like the first day of something. Not the last day of something else." He finally turned to look at me. "Does that make sense?"
"Yeah." I reached for his hand. "It does."
Rae found us there an hour later.
She looked as tired as I felt, the weight of the day's proceedings written in the lines around her eyes. But she smiled when she saw us—a small, genuine thing that softened her whole face.
"Thought I'd find you here," she said.
"Where else would I be?"
"Fair point." She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Vince and I talked and he's already making changes. New security protocols, staff reviews. He's not wasting any time."
"Good."
"The council's also authorized expanded resources for recovery research. More funding, more staff, more everything." Her eyes found mine. "They want you involved. Officially. Not just as a student or a visitor, but as part of the program's leadership."
"Me?"
"You're an Omega. The only one we have. Your abilities are essential to the recovery process—we've seen that clearly enough." She straightened. "If you're willing, they want to create a formal position. Something that recognizes your role and gives you the authority to actually make decisions."
I looked at Stone. At the ferals visible through the common room window—Gray sitting quietly, Ben pacing with less agitation than usual, the others going about their routines.
My wolves. Whether I'd planned it that way or not.
"I'm willing," I said.
Rae nodded like she'd expected that answer. "We'll work out the details over the next few weeks. For now, just... rest. You've earned it."
She turned to go, then paused.
"This doesn't fix what was done to them," she said quietly. "You know that, right? Twilson going to prison, the council allocating resources, all of it—it doesn't undo the damage."
"I know."
"The wolves who were broken, the ones who died, the decades of suffering that could have been prevented if anyone had looked closely enough..." She shook her head. "Justice doesn't repair that."
"No." I thought about Stone's exhale when the car disappeared. About Gray's first smile. About all the small victories that felt enormous because they'd been so hard to win. "But it's a start."
Rae held my gaze for a moment. Something passed between us—understanding, maybe. The recognition that we were both carrying weights that couldn't be set down, only shifted.
"Yeah," she said finally. "It's a start."
She left.
The evening settled over the Healing Center like a blanket. Staff completed their rounds. The ferals were guided to their rooms for the night. The building grew quiet, the only sounds the distant hum of equipment and the soft footsteps of night-shift workers.
Stone didn't want to go back to his own room.
"Stay with me," I said. Not a question.
He nodded.
Cole's cabin sounded perfect.
The others were already there when we arrived. James sprawled on the bed, taking up more space than strictly necessary. Neal in the chair by the window, a book open in his lap. Cal on the couch, eyes closed but not sleeping. Cole standing in the kitchen, looking out the window.
Pack.
Stone hesitated at the threshold.
"You sure?" he asked. "I can go back to my room. Give you space."
"Stone." I took his hand, pulled him inside. "You are my space."
We didn't talk much. Didn't need to. The bonds said everything—the quiet pulse of connection, the steady hum of belonging. We piled together on Cole’s bed, a tangle of limbs and warmth that should have been uncomfortable but felt like home.
Stone ended up beside me, his head on my shoulder, his arm across my waist. The position was familiar now—we'd fallen asleep like this during the heat, and after. But something was different tonight.
He was relaxed.
Not the rigid control he usually wore like armor. Not the constant vigilance of a wolf who expected attack at any moment. Just... calm. Present. Here.
"The nightmares," he murmured. "They're always about the facility. The table. The restraints."
"I know."
"Sometimes I'm back there and I can't get out. Can't remember that it's over. Can't find my way back to now."
I pressed a kiss to his forehead. "You're here. With me. With pack."
"I know." He burrowed closer. "That's what's different. Even when I'm in the nightmare, I can feel you. Feel all of you. Like an anchor."
"The bonds."
"Yeah." His voice was getting softer, sleep pulling at the edges. "I used to be alone in the dark. Now there's always a light."
His breathing evened out.
I stayed awake a while longer, listening to the rhythm of my pack's rest. James's soft snore. Neal's measured breaths. Cal's near-silent presence. Cole's watchful stillness. And Stone—finally, finally at peace.