My hands were steady. Steadier than they had any right to be.
I cleaned the first cut. He didn't flinch. He was watching my hands like they were the only thing in the room that made sense.
"Is it always like that in there?" My voice came out soft.
A long pause.
"Not always." His voice was scraped raw. "Worse at night."
I kept wrapping. Waited.
"Five years ago," he said. "There was a Rogue operation. My Pack's outer territory."
My hands slowed half a beat.
"My armor had been tampered with. I didn't notice until a Rogue's claw went through where the plate should've held."
"Who did it." I kept my voice flat.
He didn't answer. The silence answered.
"After the infection, I lost control. More than once. People I'd known my whole life got hurt." A pause. "The Pack decided I was a liabi
