Chapter 275
Brett’s Perspective
You can get used to the smell of hospital antiseptic after a while. But I’d long since moved out of the private observation room. It was too quiet. Too much like a cage, even a comfortable one. I’d pestered the nurses until they moved Scarface and Luka into a larger shared room with me.
The reason? "Group therapy for psychological recovery." Bullshit. I just didn’t want to be alone.
The gruesome scar on Scarface’s jaw had healed considerably under the med-pod and pack salves, but the mark remained stark. He was a man of few words, mostly leaning against his pillows, staring out the window or cleaning a dagger he’d somehow acquired. Luka was younger, recovering his energy faster, always restless. He’d pace the room softly to stay loose or try to engage Scarface or me in conversation, his eyes always gleaming with restless light.
We hung out together. That was the right term. It wasn’t just about healing. It was more about... confirmation. Confirming that the shaky sense of alliance we’d felt in that prison wasn’t just a desperation-induced illusion.
"You got some serious guts, kid," Scarface said one day, eyeing the healing bite marks and muscle tears on my arm. "Risking your neck for a bunch of stray mutts like us. Stupid."
"Yeah," Luka chimed in, grinning to show a sharp canine. "But the good kind of stupid. Better than wolves who talk big but tuck tail when things get real."
I didn’t answer, just tossed them each a beer I’d "liberated" from somewhere (doctor’s orders be damned). Scarface caught his, cracked it open with his teeth, and took a swig. Luka followed suit.
"So... what’s the plan after this?" I asked, trying to sound casual. My wounds still ached, but an idea had taken root and was growing like wildfire.
Scarface was silent for a moment, his gaze pulling back from the window to land on me. His eyes, which had seen too much cruelty, were sharp as blades. "Plan? What plan do rogues have? Find territory. Hunt. Avoid hunters and unfriendly kin. Survive. One day at a time."
"Until your luck runs out and you die in some gutter or lab," Luka added, his tone not self-pitying, just matter-of-fact.
"Never thought about... something different?" I tightened my grip on the beer can, the metal denting slightly. "I mean, if it’s so hard alone, why not... stick together? For real. Not just temporary."
Scarface’s gaze deepened. "Stick together? Like your Moonlight Pack? Rules thicker than fur. Not my style."
"Doesn’t have to be the same," I said, sitting up straighter, feeling my pulse quicken. "Could be our own way. Keep your word, watch each other’s backs, but skip the rigid hierarchy. Only take in those who are solid, who have grit. Clear goals—protect our own, go after scum like the ones who grabbed us, and... hunters." I let the name *Seyoum* roll on my tongue but didn’t speak it aloud. That was a heavier target.
Luka’s eyes lit up. "Sounds... interesting. You got something brewing, Brett?"
Scarface didn’t speak, just watched me. His assessing look weighed every word, every flicker of emotion. After a long moment, he spoke slowly. "You got... something about you, kid. Felt it back in that hole. Not the kind of weight that comes from bloodline or position. Something else. Makes a wolf think about following you into something." He paused, the corner of his mouth twitching, pulling at the scar. "Still think you’re a bit stupid, though."
I laughed, the movement tugging at my injuries, but I didn’t care. "Maybe. But stupid works sometimes." I looked at both of them. "If I were serious about this idea... you in?"
Luka nodded almost instantly. "In! I’m sick of this life! Following you sounds like a damn good time!"
Scarface was silent for another few seconds, then raised his beer can in a slight gesture toward me. "Let’s see how well you heal up first, kid. And... if you can round up a few more decent mutts. The three of us ain’t worth much."
It was enough. A tacit agreement. An eager recruit. A vague but tangible sense of cohesion began to form between us. It wasn’t based on blood or tradition, but on shared experience, shared dissatisfaction, and a fragile hope for something *different*.
Deep down, the part of me that craved challenge and hated stagnation resonated fiercely with these "stray mutts." The idea of building my own group, one that could truly fight and survive... once it took hold, it was impossible to ignore.