POV: Caroline
Week two teaches me that loving a child who is not yours is built the same way intelligence is built — one verified data point at a time, without assumptions.
The food list now contains four reliable entries, each one earned through trial and patient observation rather than guesswork. Peanut butter on crackers, crunchy. Sliced apples with honey. Plain rice with a single pat of butter. Scrambled eggs, soft, with no visible seasoning.
I document all four in the shared file — not for myself, but so Lysander and Claire have them when I am not in the kitchen and Dylan decides he is hungry at a time nobody predicted.
The nightmare protocol is simpler. Two methods, both discovered by accident during the first week and refined by repetition through the second.
The first is pressure — a hand flat against his back between the shoulder blades, held without movement until his breathing regulates itself. The second is humming, low and tuneless, close enough that the vibration reaches him through the mattress.
I document both in the same file. Claire reads the entries without comment, which is her way of accepting assistance she did not request and would not have refused if I had offered it aloud.
The healers' meeting convenes Thursday morning. Six pack healers sit around Elara's examination table, which doubles as a conference surface when the medical wing needs to hold more opinions than patients.
"We have reviewed Claire Chen's documentation." Elara opens the session with clinical neutrality.
"The lunar correlation is the concern." Elara taps the chart I helped Claire format on Tuesday.
"The child describes a presence during full moon phases." Josiah crosses his arms tightly now.
"He calls it the moon lady." The youngest healer, Sana, reads from the transcript with caution.
"A presence that visits a small child during specific lunar windows." Josiah shakes his head.
I watch the room's temperature shift. The word presence carries freight in a pack that spent three years rebuilding after a vampire reconnaissance campaign, and every healer at this table remembers.
"If I may." I lean forward and wait for Elara's nod before continuing into the conversation.
"Dylan describes a recurring figure using a toddler's framework." I keep my voice measured.
"He calls her the moon lady the way children name experiences they lack vocabulary for." I pause.
"What exactly are you proposing?" Josiah turns his skepticism toward me directly.
"That we treat this as a behavioral pattern before classifying it as a threat." I hold his gaze.
"The descriptions are consistent across twenty-three documented episodes." I tap the relevant page.
"He reports the same visual elements — silver light, a female figure, a sense of calm." I list them.
"Those are not the descriptors of predatory contact." I let the point land across the table.
"They describe a perceptual event we do not yet understand." I keep my hands flat and visible.
"With respect, Ms. Fenris, you are not a healer." Josiah's correction is professional, not hostile.
"No, but I am trained to assess whether evidence supports a conclusion." I do not retreat.
"The evidence supports investigation, not alarm." I gesture at the full dataset before them.
"She raises a valid distinction." Sana glances at Josiah, then back at me with cautious support.
"Presence does not automatically mean threat." Elara reinforces the point from her position.
"It does when the presence targets an unregistered Fenris heir." Josiah does not concede easily.
"Targeting implies hostility." I meet his eyes steadily across the table. "Dylan shows no distress."
"No distress during episodes, no fear upon waking, no behavioral regression." I count the negatives.
"He describes the experience the way he describes breakfast." I let the silence do the work.
The room does not relax. Six healers carry the weight of a pack that learned the hard way what happens when supernatural phenomena are dismissed as benign.
I do not minimize their fear, because their fear is earned and dismissing it would cost me every inch of credibility I have built in this room.
"I am not telling you there is no risk." I address the full table now with deliberate honesty.
"I am recommending a protocol based on evidence, not assumption." I straighten in my chair.
"If the evidence shifts, the protocol shifts with it." I fold my hands and wait.
Elara looks around the table. Josiah's arms remain crossed, but his jaw has loosened by a fraction — the particular relaxation of a skeptic who has been given a framework he can work within rather than a conclusion he is expected to accept.
"We will proceed with the behavioral classification for now." Elara closes the session formally.
"Observation protocol to be finalized before the next full moon." She writes the date in her notes.
The healers file out. I remain seated while the room empties, letting the adrenaline of performing competence in a room that did not owe me its attention drain through my fingertips.
Elara lingers. She waits until the last healer clears the door, then turns to me with the expression of a woman adding an item to an already crowded agenda.
"That reframe was well executed." She closes her notebook and tucks her pen into the spine.
"It was accurate, which matters more than the execution." I stand and collect my notes.
"The healers want a formal protocol before the full moon." She holds my gaze with steady gravity.
"I assumed they would — I have a draft framework ready for your review." I tap the folder.
"Of course you do." The corner of her mouth lifts, then settles. "Bring it tomorrow at eight."
"I will be here at seven-fifty." I tuck the folder under my arm and move toward the door.
I am six steps from the stairwell when Dylan rounds the corner with the unhurried certainty of a child who knew where to find me.
"Caroline." He stops in front of me with his grey eyes carrying a focus that bypasses his age.
"Hello, Dylan." I crouch to his level because he has earned the eye contact I give him.
"I knew your name before I came here." He delivers it quiet and certain, the way he always does.
"Before your mama told you about the compound?" I keep my voice steady despite the shift.
"Before Mama told me about anything." He tilts his head — Lysander's tilt, always Lysander's tilt.
"The moon lady told me about you." He watches my face with the patience of confirming data.
"She told me you were the one who would know what the songs mean." He grips his wolf tighter.