Chapter 27
Chapter twenty-seven
Cole requested direct access on Thursday.
I was in Stone's room when Rae delivered the news, her expression carefully neutral in a way that told me she wasn't happy about it.
"The council has approved his request," she said. "He wants to observe your interactions with the ferals. Not through the glass. In the room with you."
Stone's head lifted from my lap. Through the bond, I felt his immediate tension—the hackles rising, the protective instinct surging.
"Why?"
"His report to the council is due in three days. He says he needs to understand the mechanism of your effect on them before he can make his final recommendations." Rae's jaw tightened. "I argued against it. The council overruled me."
"Twilson."
"Among others." She glanced at Stone, then back at me. "You can refuse. I'll find a way to justify it medically."
I thought about Cole. Those amber eyes that missed nothing. The way he'd watched me during the tour—not the ferals, but me. The questions he'd asked.
"No," I said. "Let him observe."
"Lumi—"
"If he's going to decide whether Stone lives or dies, he should see what he's actually dealing with." I ran my fingers through Stone's fur, felt him settle slightly under my touch. "When does he want to start?"
"Tomorrow morning."
"Fine. Tell him I'll be here at seven."
Rae studied me for a long moment. Whatever she saw in my face made her nod slowly.
Mr. Cole arrived at exactly seven.
He moved differently in the confined space of Stone's room—still that same controlled economy of motion, but more contained. Aware of his size. Aware of the wolf watching him from the corner with barely concealed hostility.
"Miss Orlav." His voice was low. Quiet. "Thank you for agreeing to this."
"I didn't have much choice."
"There's always a choice." He positioned himself against the far wall, as far from Stone as the room allowed. "I'll stay here. Out of the way. Pretend I'm not here."
"Stone won't pretend you're not here."
"I know." His amber eyes moved to Stone, then back to me. "That's part of what I need to see. And you can just call me Cole, that’s what I’m used to responding to."
I settled into my usual spot on the floor, close to Stone but not touching him. Giving him the option to come to me if he wanted.
He wanted.
Within seconds, he'd crossed the room and pressed himself against my side. His body was tense—coiled tight with the awareness of the stranger in his space—but he didn't growl. Didn't bare his teeth. Just positioned himself between me and Cole like a living barrier.
"He's protective of you," Cole observed.
"He's protective of everyone he cares about."
"But especially you."
I didn't answer. Just started the routine that had become familiar over the past weeks—talking softly to Stone, running my hands through his fur, letting the bond between us settle into something calm and steady.
Cole watched.
Didn't ask questions. Just stood against the wall with his arms crossed, those amber eyes tracking every movement, every touch, every subtle shift in Stone's body language.
It should have been unnerving. Having someone study me like a specimen while I tried to reach the broken wolf beside me. But something about Cole's stillness made it almost bearable. He wasn't fidgeting. Wasn't radiating anxiety or judgment. He was simply... present. Observing without interfering.
And there was something else. A scent I kept catching in the recycled air of Stone's room—warm and unexpected. Vanilla, maybe. Or something close to it. Clean and soothing in a way that seemed out of place in the sterile environment of the Healing Center.
I assumed it was Cole. His shampoo, maybe. Or soap. Every time he shifted his weight or uncrossed his arms, I thought I caught another drift of it, and I found myself breathing deeper without meaning to.
I told myself it was nothing. Just an ordinary smell in a small space.
But something about it tugged at the edge of my awareness. Something I couldn't name.
I pushed the thought away and focused on Stone.
An hour passed. Stone gradually relaxed under my hands, the tension draining from his muscles as the bond did its work. His eyes stayed open—still watching Cole—but the hostility had faded to wariness.
"Can I ask you something?" Cole's voice broke the silence.
"You can ask."
"How do you do that?"
I looked up. "Do what?"
"Calm him." Cole uncrossed his arms, gestured at Stone. "He was ready to attack me when I walked in. Now he's half-asleep. What changed?"
"I don't know how to explain it." I considered the question, trying to find words for something that had always felt instinctive.
"The bond lets me feel what he's feeling.
When he's scared or angry, I can... push back against it, I guess.
Send him something calmer. Something that tells him he's safe. "
"And he believes you?"
"It's not about belief. It's about the bond. He can feel that I mean it."
Cole was quiet for a moment. His expression didn't change, but something shifted behind his eyes.
"When did you first feel it?" he asked. "The bond with him?"
"The night I met him on the mountain. Before I even saw him in human form, something just..." I shook my head. "Clicked. Like a lock finding its key."
"Has this happened with others? Besides your existing mates?"
The question landed strangely. There was something underneath it—a weight I couldn't quite identify.
"No," I said. "Just the four of them."
Cole nodded slowly. If my answer disappointed him or confirmed something, his face didn't show it.
"The other ferals," he said. "Cal's packmates. They respond to you too."
"Not as strongly. The bond with Stone is different—it's a mate bond. The others are more like... they sense I'm connected to Cal. Part of his pack by extension."
"But they still calm when you're near."
"Yes."
"Why do you think that is?"
I looked down at Stone. At his scarred fur, his too-thin frame, thought about his golden eyes that held so much pain and so much stubborn, desperate life.
"Because I don't give up on them," I said quietly. "Because I keep coming back. Because I look at them and see people instead of monsters."
The silence stretched. When I glanced up, Cole was watching me with an expression I couldn't read.
"You're not what I expected," he said.
"What did you expect?"
He didn't answer. Just pushed off from the wall and moved toward the door.
"Same time tomorrow," he said. "If you're willing."
"I'm willing."
He paused at the door. Looked back at me—at Stone pressed against my side, at my hand buried in his fur, at whatever he saw in my face.
"Thank you," he said. "For letting me see this."
Then he was gone.
Stone lifted his head. Through the bond, I felt his confusion—the threat had left, but something about the interaction had unsettled him.
"I don't know either," I murmured. "But I don't think he's our enemy."
Stone made a sound. Not quite agreement. Not quite disagreement.
We'd see.
The observations continued.
Cole came every morning. Stayed for hours. Watched me work with Stone, with the gray one, with the other ferals. He asked questions that seemed random but probably weren't. He never touched anything. Never interfered.
And he never stopped watching me.
By the third day, even Stone had begun to tolerate his presence.
Not accept—Stone didn't accept anyone except me—but the constant growling had stopped.
The aggressive posturing had faded. He still positioned himself between me and Cole whenever the consultant was in the room, but it felt more like habit than genuine threat.
"He's improving," Cole observed on the third afternoon. We were in the gray one's room—Cal's packmate, the wolf who had managed four seconds of human form. "His coat looks healthier. He's put on weight."
"He started eating more after Stone's shift." I was sitting by the barrier, watching the gray wolf watch me. "I think seeing recovery actually happen gave him something to hold onto."
"Hope."
"Maybe. Or just proof that it's possible."
Cole was quiet for a moment. Then: "What made you decide to go into Stone's room? The night he shifted?"
The question caught me off guard. I'd expected more clinical queries—how long had the ferals been contained, what were their vital statistics, standard assessment questions. Not this.
"He was dying," I said. "The bond was incomplete, and fighting it was destroying him. Going in was the only way to complete it."
"You could have died."
"I almost did. He had his teeth on my throat."
"But you went anyway."
"Yes."
"Why?"
I turned to look at him. He was leaning against the wall in his usual position, arms crossed, face unreadable. But there was something in his eyes—something that looked almost like genuine curiosity.
"Because I couldn't watch him give up," I said. "Because the bond told me there was still someone in there worth saving. Because—" I stopped. Tried to find the right words. "Because some things are worth the risk. Even when you're scared. Even when everyone tells you it's impossible."
Cole studied me. The silence stretched until it became uncomfortable.
"You're not afraid of me," he said finally. "Everyone else on this campus—staff, students, even the council members—they're all afraid of me. But you're not."
"Should I be?"
"Most people think so."
"I'm not most people."
Something flickered across his face. Not quite a smile. But close.
"No," he said quietly. "You're not."
He pushed off from the wall. Moved toward the door.
"My observation period is complete," he said. "I have what I need for my report."
"And? What are you going to recommend?"
He paused. Looked back at me.
"You'll find out at the council session."
"That's not an answer."
"No. It's not." His amber eyes held mine for a moment longer than necessary. "But I will tell you this—whatever happens, whatever I recommend... I'm glad I came here."
He left before I could respond.
I sat in Stone's room for a long time after, trying to understand what had just happened. Trying to interpret the weight in Cole's words, the look in his eyes, the strange feeling that something had shifted between us without either of us acknowledging it.
That night, Rae found me in the corridor outside Stone's room.
"Cole submitted his preliminary report," she said. "The council session is scheduled for day after tomorrow."
"Do you know what he recommended?"
"No. He filed it directly with Werrow. Sealed until the session." Rae's expression was troubled. "But he's requested to extend his stay. Indefinitely."
My stomach dropped. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know. It could mean he thinks the situation requires ongoing monitoring. It could mean he's seen something that concerns him." She paused. "Or it could mean something else entirely."
"Something else like what?"
Rae shook her head, looked at me. Through me, then she walked away.
I stood in the corridor, alone, trying to make sense of everything.
Cole was staying. The council session was in two days. Stone was alive but still more wolf than human. And somewhere in all of it, something was shifting—something I couldn't name but could feel pressing against the edges of my awareness.
And when I finally fell asleep that night, curled up on the small bed in Stone's room with his wolf form pressed warm against my side, I dreamed of amber eyes watching me from across a room.
Waiting.