His scent changes. I can smell it happen, the sharp, acrid spike that means the body has decided to be afraid before the mind catches up. His breathing stops. His eyes lock on my hands, on the claws that are still out, still scoring the wall.
The wolf’s attention narrows. Movement. Small body. The corridor shrinks to the space between us, and my weight shiftsforward onto the balls of my feet. I take a step before I know I’m doing it.
He doesn’t run. Just stands there. Rooted. His hands are fists at his sides. His chin is up, eyes huge. He’s terrified, and he isn’t moving, but the wolf doesn’t care about the difference between brave and frozen.
Another step. My hand lifts. The claws catch the light.
“Don’t.”
The voice comes from behind me. Low. Steady. The same voice that said “wait” in the locked room, the same voice that talks to me through the fog when everything else is chemicals and silence.
Sable.
I stop.
My head turns toward her before my body decides to.
She’s at the far end of the corridor. Sleeves rolled to her elbows, hair loose around her face. Her hands are at her sides, palms open. She isn’t looking at the child. She’s looking at me.
“Don’t do it,” she says. “Please.”
Please.
Nobody asks. Nobody has ever asked.
The word hits harder than an order. Harder than a dart. It reaches the part of me that was already moving and closes around it.
The windows stop trembling.
The boards beneath my feet settle.
The child’s hair no longer lifts in the charged air.
I drag in one breath. Then another. The thing inside me folds back, not gone, not obedient, but held.
My wolf goes still with it.
Not gone.
Listening.
My shoulders sag as my breath eases out, tension filtering along with it.
“You’re safe,” she says. “At Ravenclaw. You broke the door. That’s okay. Nobody’s going to hurt you for that.”
She takes a step forward. Then another. Slow. Each one announced.
“It’s okay,” she says, her tone smooth and calm. “You’re going to be okay.”
Behind me, I hear someone else move. A different scent; male, sharp with adrenaline, the bitter undertone of a wolf who’s ready to fight. My fists start to curl, but my focus is still locked on her.
Sable’s eyes flick past my shoulder. Something crosses her face. Fast. Gone before I can read it.
“Don’t,” she says. Not to me this time.
Her voice doesn’t change register. The same low, steady tone. But the word carries weight.
I swivel to see who she’s talking to. Who the threat is.
