Damon pov
The council's final ruling came three days after the attack, delivered with a gravity that reflected exactly how severely Genevieve's escalating violence had ultimately been judged.
"Permanent placement," Helena said, addressing the small group of us gathered for the formal announcement—myself, my father, Callum, and several senior council members. "A maximum-security psychiatric facility in the northern arctic territories, operated jointly by several allied packs specifically for cases requiring this level of containment."
"The arctic," my father repeated, something grim satisfaction evident in his tired voice.
"The terrain itself serves as additional security," Helena explained. "Extreme cold, isolated location, minimal accessible escape routes. If she attempts to flee this facility, survival becomes genuinely unlikely given the environment surrounding it."
I felt something settle in my chest at that confirmation—not quite relief, given everything already lost throughout this exhausting ordeal, but genuine, cautious confidence that this placement would actually, finally prove permanent.
"What about whoever assisted her previous escape," I asked. "Has that investigation revealed anything?"
Callum's expression tightened with obvious frustration. "Nothing conclusive yet. We've interviewed extensively, reviewed every available security footage, but whoever helped her covered their tracks remarkably thoroughly. It's possible she had outside pack assistance, someone with resources beyond our own territory's typical connections."
"That's concerning," my father said. "If she had genuine outside support before, what guarantees do we have that similar assistance won't eventually target this new facility?"
"The security protocols there are considerably more extensive," Helena assured him. "Multiple layers of containment, constant monitoring, personnel specifically trained for exactly this kind of high-risk situation. We're taking every precaution to ensure this placement genuinely proves permanent."
I nodded, though underlying unease remained present regardless, understanding the genuine, unresolved mystery of her previous escape continued representing a vulnerability we hadn't fully addressed or understood.
We visited her once more before her transfer, a final formal interview intended to gather any remaining useful information about her mental state, her motivations, potentially any additional details about who had assisted her escape.
She looked considerably worse than during the trial—disheveled, eyes wild and unfocused, her speech increasingly fragmented and difficult to follow, apparently deteriorating further during her time on the run and subsequent capture.
"You need to understand," she said, her voice carrying frantic, unstable urgency as we sat across from her in the secure interview room, "everything I've done, it's connected. All of it, connected to something you don't understand."

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