Chapter 6
Chapter six
Rae's office smelled like chamomile tea and old paper.
I'd always found it comforting before — the warmth of it, the quiet. The way the afternoon light filtered through her window and made everything feel softer, safer, like the world outside couldn't touch us here.
Today, it felt like a cage.
"Say that again," Rae said. Her voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that meant she was working very hard not to react.
"North shifted last night. He spoke." I kept my hands folded in my lap, kept my voice steady, even though my heart was pounding. "He told me his name, Cal, he remembers having a pack. Other ferals."
Rae was quiet for a long moment. Her tea sat untouched on the desk between us, steam curling toward the ceiling.
"And you believe him," she said finally.
"I saw them."
Her eyebrows rose. "Saw them how?"
"The same way I saw Cal." I met her eyes. "The same way I've been seeing Denali since I was eleven years old."
Rae knew about the visions — the dreams that had started when I was a child, pulling me toward a mountain I'd never seen, toward a wolf who needed to be found.
She'd believed me then. I needed her to believe me now.
"How many?" she asked.
"Four that escaped. Plus the alpha, if he survived. They were being chased by something — a bear, I think. The alpha stayed behind to fight it. Told the others to run."
Rae's expression didn't change, but I felt something shift in the room. The air getting heavier.
"Five ferals," she said slowly. "On a mountain that's already nearly killed you once."
"I know."
"A mountain you went to without authorization, without backup, without telling anyone where you were going—"
"And I found Cal." I leaned forward. "I was right, Rae. About the vision, about the wolf, about all of it. I'm right about this too."
"Being right doesn't mean being smart." Her voice was sharp now.
"You got lucky last time. James shifted for the first time in the middle of a blizzard and somehow managed not to kill either of you.
Cal was unconscious for transport, which was the only reason you made it back alive.
None of that is a plan, Lumi. It's a miracle. "
"Then help me make a real plan."
"I am." Rae set down her tea with careful precision. "A real plan involves going through proper channels. Building a case. Getting Council approval, trained rescue teams, proper equipment—"
"That will take months."
"Weeks, if I push."
"They don't have weeks." I stood, unable to sit still any longer. "Every day we wait, they're out there. Starving. Freezing. Losing more of themselves to the feral darkness. Cal barely held onto enough humanity to remember they exist. How much longer before they forget entirely?"
"And if you go now, unprepared, and get yourself killed? Who helps them then?"
The words landed hard. I didn't have an answer.
Rae sighed. Rubbed her eyes. For a moment, she looked older than I'd ever seen her — tired in a way that went bone-deep.
"I'm not saying no," she said quietly. "I'm saying not like this. Not again. Give me time. Let me work the system."
I thought about Cal's face when he'd told me about his pack. The grief. The guilt. The way his voice had cracked on I left them.
I thought about the vision — four wolves running through a blizzard, terrified and alone, disappearing into white.
I thought about the guilt that had been sitting in my chest since the moment Cal had spoken those words. James and I had dragged him off that mountain unconscious, strapped him to a sled, hauled him through miles of snow without ever stopping to ask if there was anyone else who needed saving.
We'd saved one. And abandoned five.
"I'll think about it," I said.
Rae's shoulders relaxed slightly. "That's all I'm asking."
It wasn't a promise. We both knew that.
Neal was in his office when I found him.
He looked up when I knocked on the open door, his expression flickering through surprise, caution, and that careful professional blankness he wore like armor.
"Lumi." He set down his pen. "Can I help you with something?"
"I need to talk to you. Privately."
His jaw tightened. "I'm in the middle of—"
"It's about Cal. And his pack."
That got his attention. I saw the moment curiosity won out over caution — the slight narrowing of his eyes, the way his body angled toward me despite himself.
"Close the door," he said.
I did. Then I told him everything.
Cal's shift. His memories. The pack he'd left behind. The vision I'd had — the wolves running through snow, the bear, the blood. The four ferals still out there, waiting for a rescue that had never come.
Neal listened without interrupting. His face stayed neutral, but I felt the bond between us shifting as I spoke — surprise giving way to concern, concern giving way to something that felt dangerously close to fear.
We hadn't spent much time together since the bond had snapped into place.
He'd been avoiding me — avoiding this, the impossible connection between us that neither of us had asked for.
But in this moment, with the door closed and his professional mask slipping, I could feel him more clearly than I had since that first night.
He was terrified. Not of the mountain. Of me. Of what I made him feel.
"You want to go after them," he said when I finished. Not a question.
"Yes."
"Without Council approval. Without trained backup. Without any guarantee they're still alive."
"Yes."
"You've done this before." It wasn't an accusation. Just a statement of fact. "The first time. When you found Cal. You went alone."
"James followed me."
"But you went first. Without telling anyone. Based on nothing but a vision you'd had since you were a child." Neal shook his head slowly. "You're insane."
"Probably." I stepped closer. "But I was right. And I'm right about this."
"The mortality rate for mountain climbing—"
"I know the statistics. I've been studying Denali since I was eleven years old, Neal.
Every approach route, every weather pattern, every survival technique.
I know that mountain better than people who've climbed it a dozen times.
" I held his gaze. "I didn't go unprepared last time. I won't be unprepared now."
"You'll still be going against explicit orders. If Rae finds out—"
"Rae wants to wait for Council approval. I can't wait."
"Can't? Or won't?"
"Does it matter?" I felt my voice crack and hated myself for it. "They're out there, Neal. Right now. Alone. Scared. And every day that passes, they lose a little more of themselves. Cal barely remembered they existed. What happens when there's nothing left to remember?"
Neal was quiet for a long moment. The bond pulsed between us — his conflict and my desperation, tangled together.
"Even if I wanted to help," he said slowly, "I don't see what I could offer. I'm not a climber. I'm not trained for wilderness rescue. I'm a doctor."
"Exactly." I stepped closer. "We'll need medical support. Someone who knows feral physiology. Someone who can keep them stable during transport, sedate them safely if needed, handle whatever condition they're in when we find them."
"You're asking me to throw away my career."
"I'm asking you to help me save five lives."
"At what cost?" His voice rose, cracking the professional mask. "My license? My position? The ability to help anyone ever again?"
"Neal—"
"No." He held up a hand. "I can't. There has to be another way. Something that doesn't require—"
"Shut up."
James's voice came from the doorway.
I spun. He was leaning against the frame, cowboy hat tipped low, arms crossed, expression hard. I hadn't heard him approach.
"This isn't your concern," Neal started.
"Shut up and feel your mate."
The words hit like a slap. Neal went rigid.
"You want to talk about your career?" James stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.
"Fine. Let's talk. Let's talk about the bond you've been running from for weeks.
The one that's eating her alive every time you walk away.
The one that's screaming at you right now, telling you she needs you. "
"That's not—"
"Your mate needs you." James's voice dropped, low and dangerous. "Your fucking mate is standing in front of you, asking for help, and you're worried about paperwork?"
Neal's face had gone pale. The bond between us was pulsing now — his end and mine, impossible to ignore.
"Feel it," James said. "For once in your goddamn life, stop thinking and feel. Her fear. Her determination. The weight of knowing there are people dying because no one will help them."
Neal closed his eyes.
I felt the moment he stopped resisting. The walls he'd built crumbling, just for a second, letting everything through. My exhaustion. My guilt. My bone-deep certainty that this was right, even if it destroyed us all.
When he opened his eyes again, something had changed.
He bowed his head. Nodded once.
"Okay," he said quietly. "What do you need?"
We planned in Neal's office with the door locked and the blinds drawn.
I spread the topographic map across his desk, my fingers finding the familiar contours without thinking. I'd memorized these mountains years ago — every ridge, every valley, every approach route that might get a person up and back alive.
"The northern approach is suicide this time of year," I said, tracing the line I knew by heart. "Avalanche risk is too high. We go around — through the valley here, then up the eastern ridge."
"How many days does that add?" James said.
"Two days tops and it keeps us alive." I tapped the map. "This route has natural windbreaks here and here. Rock formations that provide shelter if a storm hits. And the grade is more manageable for hauling supplies — or unconscious ferals."
Neal leaned closer, studying the path I'd outlined. "You really have been studying this."