The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond-Chapter 40: The Wolves Behind the Door

"I don’t care if they’re nervous," Camille said, her voice clipped, low, and sharp. "Let them feel what we’ve been forced to live with."

Beckett stood in front of the eastern corridor gates, his arms folded, eyes locked on the mass of wolves filtering into the lower hall. "It’s not about fear. It’s pressure. They came to stand with you, not watch you burn."

"They’re going to get both," Camille said as she stepped down the final stair, the tap of her boots swallowed by the echoing chamber below.

The crowd was growing. Magnolia stood off to the left near the pillar line, her figure draped in charcoal black, braid wrapped tight like a crown. She watched Camille approach without speaking, her fingers toying with the wolfstone pendant at her throat.

Camille took her place at the center of the arched hall. The old stone circle beneath her feet had once borne the Alpha markings now dulled by time, scorched by fire, and softened by hundreds of footsteps.

Rhett entered through the opposite corridor, flanked by two guards who weren’t really guards they were bonded wolves, unmarked, stripped of their rank long ago. And now, returned.

"They’re watching from the upper gallery," he said, voice low as he approached her side.

"I hope they choke on the view," Camille replied without missing a beat.

He didn’t smile.

He didn’t need to.

He knew.

Camille turned slowly to face the room. The torches had been lowered. The center chamber pulsed in shadows. Her breath visible in the cold. Her voice came like flint over stone.

"I won’t give you a speech," she began. "Speeches are for the ones trying to convince you they’re worthy of being heard."

Heads turned. She let the quiet stretch.

"I’m not here to be convincing. I’m not here to earn your faith. I came because I lived. I survived the things they swore didn’t exist. And when I clawed my way back from the cradle, I didn’t come to ask for a place."

She stepped forward, jaw tight, eyes hard.

"I came to take it."

Murmurs rolled through the crowd. But not one voice interrupted her.

"They told us the bond made us dangerous," Camille continued. "That once it broke, once it flared in ways they didn’t understand, it meant we were a threat. A flaw. A mistake."

Her gaze swept the room.

"I am not a mistake. Neither are you. You’ve come here with scars. With silence. With fire you never asked for and truths you were told to bury. But I’m telling you now they can’t hold that door shut anymore."

Magnolia stepped forward. "Then let’s tear it open."

The crowd stirred again, energy coiling in their feet, rippling through shoulders and eyes and breath.

Camille nodded once.

Then spoke again, quieter this time.

"You were branded. Outcast. Bound to laws you never chose and held to histories you never wrote. But if we are the ones cursed by the bond, then let them see what cursed wolves do when they are not ashamed of what they’ve become."

At the back of the room, one of the bonded wolves raised her hand a small gesture, barely a ripple. She had no crest. No markings. Just a scar running down her neck and the shape of a long-forgotten seal still visible at her wrist.

"I saw the cradle burn," the woman said. "I saw what they did to the ones they couldn’t control."

Camille looked at her. "And you lived."

"I lived," she said, voice trembling. "Because someone broke the door open."

Camille’s gaze turned toward the upper balconies.

"Let them hear us," she said, louder now. "Let them see who we are when we don’t kneel."

And they didn’t.

Not one wolf in the chamber lowered their head.

Not one looked down.

The silence became a roar.

And in that stillness, the Council watched.

Watched, and for the first time in decades said nothing.

Rhett stepped beside Camille, eyes scanning the wolves like a silent warning. "They’re hesitating. Not the wolves the Council. I can smell it on them."

"They’re waiting for a reason to shut this down," she replied. "Let’s not give it to them. Yet."

Beckett moved toward the open stone doors. "Word’s spreading through the side wings. The ones who couldn’t make it into the hall are gathering at the watch wall. They want a verdict. Not from the Elders. From her." His eyes flicked toward Camille. "They came for justice. Or retribution. Depends on who speaks first."

Camille looked out over the assembled wolves, her breath low and even. "Then I speak first."

She stepped back into the ring and held up the frayed ledger the same one scorched on the cradle floor. Pages hung by threads, some smeared with old blood and half-erased names. She lifted it high, not to show it off, but to show it survived.

"This is the record they tried to burn," she said. "This is the list of every wolf they bound, bred, silenced. Every cradle number, every false death report, every child erased from the bloodline scrolls. It’s not complete. It never will be. But it’s enough."

Gasps filtered through the room. The name on the first visible page: Subject Two: Ashwall Extraction.

"They told me I was the only one left," Camille said. "They lied."

She let the words fall like stones in water.

Magnolia took a slow step forward. "You all have your truths. And now you have hers. If you want to run, no one will stop you. If you want to fight, you won’t fight alone."

"I’m not asking for blood," Camille said. "But I will take it if it’s the only way the Keep remembers what it tried to bury."

Suddenly, from the shadows, a figure emerged cloaked, limping, half-hidden beneath fur and frost. A deep scar ran from his eye to his chin, bisecting a long-dead tattoo of the Council’s emblem. He spoke with a cracked voice.

"I was twelve when they locked me under the archive floor."

All movement in the room stilled.

"I tried to shift too early," he continued. "My bond flared during a reading test. They told my family I’d died in the snow. But I didn’t. I was the trial run before her."

He pointed at Camille.

The chamber went utterly still.

Camille stepped down from the platform.

"What’s your name?" she asked.

"I don’t remember," he said.

Magnolia’s voice wavered for the first time. "We’ll help you remember."

Camille turned toward the crowd again, voice a quiet command.

"This is what justice looks like. Not perfect. Not polished. Just present. Alive." frёeweɓηovel.coɱ

Someone in the gallery above shifted an Elder, clearly. But they didn’t speak.

Because what could they say?

The truth had already walked through the door.

Camille looked at Magnolia, at Rhett, at Beckett, and then at the nameless wolf whose voice had cracked history open.

"Tomorrow we vote," she said. "Tonight, we stand."

And not one wolf in that hall sat down.