Losing his trainer meant losing all privileges.

Caleb's movement permissions were revoked on the spot.

Two security officers stepped forward, preparing to escort him back to the Containment Zone.

But Caleb fought back violently, even tearing up the Reassignment Form, shouting my name over and over.

Of course.

He was accustomed to my unconditional indulgence.

Proud as he was, he had always been the one to pull away — confident that I'd chase him.

"Luna! LUNA REED!"

His roar echoed through the Institute corridors. The amber in his eyes had bled to gold — a sign his wolf was surfacing.

Researchers pressed against walls. Security tightened their grips on tranquilizer guns.

"Luna, get out here! You can't do this! You can't just throw me away!"

I was in Lab 3, separated by two hallways and a steel door. I could still hear every word.

Asher stood beside me, his rabbit ears twitching with each shout. His hand found mine under the table, fingers cool and steady.

"You don't have to go out there," he said quietly.

"I know."

"He's trying to make you feel guilty."

"I know that too."

Another crash. Something breaking. More shouting.

Then — Vivian's voice, cutting through the chaos like a perfectly timed blade.

"Caleb, stop! You're scaring everyone!"

"Stay out of this, Vivian!"

"I'm trying to help you! Luna has clearly made her decision. Fighting won't change anything."

"I don't need your help! I need Luna!"

The irony was so thick it was suffocating.

My father appeared in the lab doorway, his expression grim.

"They've sedated him. He'll be unconscious for a few hours."

I nodded.

"Luna." My father's voice softened. "The reassignment is permanent. You know that. Once the paperwork is filed—"

"I know, Dad."

"He's going to be reassigned to a different trainer. One who can handle a high-aggression wolf."

My throat tightened. Caleb — with his love of poetry and his secret gentleness — classified as high-aggression. Because no one else had ever seen the soft parts of him.

Because he'd only ever shown them to me.

And Vivian.

"Who's the new trainer?" I asked.

"Dr. Marcus Reid. He specializes in difficult cases."

I knew Marcus. Efficient, clinical, no-nonsense. He'd treat Caleb fairly but without warmth. Without poetry or vouchers or stupid little drawings.

It was what Caleb deserved.

No — it was what Caleb had chosen.

I squared my shoulders.

"Tell Dr. Reid I'll prepare a transfer brief. Caleb has specific dietary needs and a sensitivity to certain sedatives."

My father raised an eyebrow. "You're being very professional about this."

"I'm a researcher, Dad. This is what we do."

He looked at me for a long moment, then at Asher, who was still holding my hand under the table.

"That rabbit is good for you," he said, and left.

Asher's ears perked up. "Your dad doesn't hate me?"

"He just gave you the highest compliment he's ever given a beastkin."

"Oh." A pause. "Should I make him tea?"

Despite everything — the screaming, the breaking glass, the sedation — I laughed.

A real laugh. Small, but real.

Asher beamed like I'd handed him the sun.