“Oh, God. Rafael—”
He doesn’t move. The gas settles in his cell like fog. His body lies slack on the white tile, face turned toward the glass, toward me, while I press both hands to the shattered surface and can’t reach him. Inches of warded glass between my palms and his face. Inches, and it might as well be miles.
“Get her away from the glass,” the security officer says. “If that panel gives way, the gas will come through.”
Hands close on my shoulders.
Not the staffer.
Nadia.
I didn’t hear her come in.
“Sable. Come away from the glass. You can’t help him from in here.”
“Let me go in. Open the door. I can—”
“The gas is still active. You go in there, you go down too.”
I press my forehead against the cracked glass. On the other side, Rafael’s breathing has changed to the slow, stolen rhythm of sedation.
Nadia’s hands stay firm on my shoulders. “Come with me. Now. Being here isn’t helping anyone.”
She steers me out of the observation room and into the corridor. I let her because my legs have stopped being reliable.
“He’s down,” Nadia says. “He’s unconscious. They’re not hurting him.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know. I’m going to make sure.” She turns to someone behind her. “Medical team in his cell. No restraints unless I authorize it. Go.”
Somehow, I’m on the floor of the corridor with my back against the wall, sucking in shuddering breaths.
Nadia crouches beside me. “Sable. Look at me.”
I look at her.
“The observation glass is shattered. The monitors are fried. His magic nearly broke through two inches of warded reinforcement.” Her voice is quiet, but her eyes are unflinching. “Nobody touched you. Nobody threatened you. You were walking away from him.”
“I was crying. He saw me crying.”
“He saw you leaving.” She pauses. “Sable, do you understand what that means? It wasn’t a physical threat. He didn’t seesomeone hurt you. He saw you in distress and walking away from him, and the response was totally uncontrolled.”
I close my eyes.
“If his trigger is physical threat to you, we can manage that. We keep staff at a distance. We control the environment. But if his trigger is your emotional state…if he detonates because you’re upset, because you’re leaving, because he can feel what you’re feeling—” She stops. “We can’t manage that. Nobody can manage that.”
“It’s conditioning,” I say. My voice sounds thin. “He’s reacting to years of—”
“That’s not conditioning, Sable. Conditioning doesn’t teach a wolf to read someone’s tears through a wall. Conditioning doesn’t produce that kind of response to someone walking away. That’s something else.”
I press my head back against the wall. Close my eyes. I think of those hours in the cave, talking about feeling a pull you can’t ignore.
“They’re going to say he’s unrecoverable,” she says.
“He’s not.”
“I hear you. And I believe you.” Nadia squeezes my hand. “But that male is unstable. And he’s bonded with you.”
