Page 65 of The Pack

She glanced at me, her deep, dark blue eyes catching the light as she moved closer.

“Thanks again for this,” she said, her voice quieter now. “It’s warmer than I thought it would be when I first saw it.”

I grunted, my usual response, and returned my attention to the blade in my hand. She didn’t leave. Instead, she settled down beside me, her movements careful but deliberate, like she was testing her place.

“Do you always grunt like that?” she asked, her tone carrying a hint of teasing.

I arched an eyebrow at her but didn’t respond.

She smirked, leaning forward slightly. “It’s very mysterious, you know. All the grunting and brooding. I bet it drives people crazy.”

“Does it driveyoucrazy?” I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Her cheeks flushed faintly, and she shrugged, her eyes drifting to the fire.

“Maybe a little,” she admitted softly.

For a moment, we sat in silence, the fire crackling next to us, then she broke it with a question I didn’t expect.

“What was it like?”

I frowned, glancing at her. “What was what like?”

“Before,” she said, gesturing vaguely. “Before the Collapse. Before everything went to hell.”

I stiffened, the memories flashing through my mind like a film reel. “It was… very different.”

She turned to me, her eyes curious. “Different how?”

I hesitated, unsure how to explain a world she’d never known. “It was cleaner,” I said finally. “Orderly. There were cities, roads, cars… people. They didn’t live in fear like they do now. They went to jobs, to school. They worried about things that seem… small now.”

Her brow furrowed. “Small? Like what?”

“Like whether their coffee order was right,” I said dryly. “Or if their favorite show was going to get canceled.”

She blinked, her lips curving into a faint smile. “That sounds… oddly enough, nice.”

“It was,” I admitted, my voice softening. “But it wasn’t perfect. People fought over stupid things, held grudges over even smaller ones. The Collapse didn’t just destroy the world we built—it exposed what was already broken.”

She was quiet for a moment, her expression distant. “I can’t imagine it,” she said finally.

Her curiosity was strangely compelling. The way she leaned in, her eyes wide with questions, made me want to tell her more, even when I didn’t want to revisit those old memories.

“You’d have liked it,” I said before I could stop myself. “It was a good place for people like you. People who are curious. People who see the world and want to understand it.”

She looked at me. “That sounds like a compliment, Tobias,” she said, her tone light, but edged with warmth.

“Don’t get used to it,” I muttered, returning to my knife.

She laughed, and the sound settled something inside me I hadn’t realized was restless.

For the first time in years, I let myself hope that maybe, just maybe the world could be something more than it was. More than simply surviving. More than endless fights, bloodshed, and nights spent wondering if we’d see the next sunrise.

I wanted somethingbeautiful. Something worth fighting for beyond just the next battle. I wanted warmth, laughter, the kind of life that didn’t revolve around loss and survival alone.

And for the first time, I saw the possibility of that—not in the ruins of the world around us, but in her. In the way she looked at us like we weren’t just wolves and warriors, but men. In the way she challenged us, softened us, made us want more.

More than just living.

---