William finished his classes a bit earlier than usual. Feeling that pleasant heaviness of mild exhaustion, he made his way toward the cafeteria. His stomach gave a traitorous growl — lunchtime.

He grabbed three turkey sandwiches, a glass of orange juice, and, weaving through the crowd of noisy tables, chose a corner seat by the window — the perfect spot to watch without being watched.

The students seemed unusually lively today. Laughter rippled through the air, voices overlapping in bursts of conversation and excitement. There was a strange electricity about the place.

"Probably those rumors about that professor from Arkham," William thought, smirking skeptically. Honestly, he couldn't have cared less. All he wanted was a quiet meal.

He picked up a sandwich and brought it close to his face. The smell hit him first — fresh bread, melted cheese, the smoky scent of turkey — a warm and irresistible mix.

"Say what you will, but the food here's top-notch," he thought. Saint Bulman University wasn't cheap — most students were the sons and daughters of businessmen and bureaucrats — and perhaps of that, the cafeteria offered a standard that rose far above student expectations.

William, however, didn't consider himself part of that "golden youth." His family had money, sure, but parading around with it? Not his thing. Comfort was useful, not defining. If you started putting price tags on everything you valued… it wouldn't be long before you forgot what truly mattered.

He was just about to take his first bite when a burst of energy erupted beside him — a laugh, a playful smack on the shoulder, and a familiar, teasing voice:

"Miss me, sugar?"

William nearly choked from surprise. Next to him plopped Letecia — fiery curls in total disarray, jacket hanging from one shoulder, eyes gleaming with mischief. Right behind her came Milagros, calm and gentle, holding a plastic container.

"Good Lord, did you two just materialize outta thin air?" William blinked, sandwich half-forgotten.

"Almost!" Letecia chuckled, promptly snatching one of his sandwiches and taking a bite without hesitation. "Had a lil' meetin' on the roof, and this gal here"—she nodded at Milagros—"said she had somethin' for ya. So here we are."

"It's not just something," Milagros corrected softly, setting the container down with a careful hand. "It's food."

The moment she opened the lid, a rich, homey aroma filled the air — stewed meat, vegetables, spices simmered to perfection.

"That smells… incredible," William said, a little stunned. "You cooked this yourself?"

"Of course." She smiled in that understated way of hers — calm, confident, no trace of boasting. "You've gotten thinner lately. Hunters shouldn't lose their strength. We're a pack now, remember?" Her voice softened, yet carried an unshakable assurance. "And a pack takes care of its own."

William felt warmth creep up before he even found the words. "Thank you, Mila. That's… unexpectedly kind."

"If you don't like it, eat it anyway," she said with mock severity, a small smirk playing on her lips. "I didn't spend an morning cooking for nothing."

"Well, lookie here!" Letecia drawled dramatically, clasping her hands and widening her eyes. "A sweet lil' romance brewin' between two meat-lovin' souls!"

Milagros turned toward her, smiling just a little too sweetly. "Weren't you the one who—"

"Hah! Now don't you start, darlin'!" Letecia interrupted, laughing a bit too loud and casting her a warning glance. "Some things are meant to stay secret — right, sugar? Girl talk!"

William looked between them, puzzled. "Am I… missing something?"

"Nah," Letecia waved him off, grinning like a fox. "Girls just like a bit'a drama, that's all."

"Oh, she's not wrong," Milagros murmured, her gaze glinting. "Sometimes a little too much."

And William, finally sinking his teeth into the long-delayed bite of his sandwich, realized the food had cooled — but the air around their little table was warmer than ever.

"Got anythin' new?" William asked after a short pause, deciding the air had grown too heavy. His tone was calm, but there was a tension beneath it—like a man too used to bad news.

Letecia turned the plastic lid from Milagros's container in her hands, spinning it as if it could help her find the right words.

"Well… depends how you look at it," she drawled at last. "Yeah, there's somethin', but not much." Her eyes flicked toward Milagros, as though gauging whether it was safe to go on. "Far as I heard, the cops are still runnin' in circles. No clues, no witnesses, nothin'. They're diggin', but comin' up with empty hands. So you an' Cain can finally breathe a little easier."

William let out a quiet, shaky breath—relief mixed with fatigue. He picked up his juice and took a sip, exhaling through his nose.

"Well, that's… something," he muttered, trying to sound indifferent. Failing, a little.

"If I were you, sugar, I'd lay low all the same," Letecia said, gesturing lazily with her fork, stabbing absentmindedly at the crumbs of his sandwich. "Wait till the boys in blue burn themselves out."

"Hold on," Milagros interjected. Her tone was even, though a sharp thread of curiosity ran through it. "Who exactly is this… Cain?"

At the name, William stiffened. Letecia arched an eyebrow and gave a low hum.

"Ah, right… you're still new to our glorious—" she made finger quotes in the air, "—little pack. So buckle up, sugarplum. Crash course comin' right up: William an' Cain, they're the local monsters in disguise. Press says so themselves—bloodthirsty maniacs terrorizin' this sweet lil' town."

She'd said it too loud. A couple of students at the next table looked over. William's chair scraped sharply as he leaned in, hissing under his breath:

"Jesus, Letecia—keep your damn voice down! You want'em to cuff us right here between the sandwiches and orange juice?"

Letecia slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

"Alright, alright!" she whispered, half-laughing. "Sorry, sugar. Subtlety ain't one of my God-given talents, I'll grant ya that."

A muffled laugh slipped from Milagros before she shifted her container aside and said, calmly but with purpose:

"I already guessed he's the Gato. But Cain… he's the one they call the Heart-Eater, isn't he?"

Letecia twirled a straw between her fingers and nodded.

"Bingo, darlin'. The one an' only."

Something dark flickered across William's face. He leaned back, laced his fingers together, and squeezed until his knuckles turned white.

"Believe me, he's even worse in real life than the news makes him out to be," — William said flatly, lifting his tired eyes.

"Worse?" Milagros scoffed, one eyebrow arching. "How's that even possible? The media's already called him a impotent pervert who gets off on dead bodies. What's left beyond that?"

William let out a dry chuckle.

"According to him, the impotence rumor's a lie. Though who the hell knows with that freak. Maybe he just said it to sound more like a man."

Milagros shook her head, a flicker of disgust — and maybe curiosity — passing through her eyes.

"If even half of what they're saying is true, I'm not sure I want to know which half."

Letecia's lips twitched.

"Funny thing is, hearin' him talk, you'd think otherwise… though hell, with that kind o' sickness, who can tell?"

"Exactly," William spat quietly. "You can't trust a damn word out of his mouth."

Silence fell over the table. The hum of the cafeteria filled the gap—clinking cutlery, trays sliding, footsteps shuffling. Finally, Letecia spoke again, her tone softer, touched by something that almost resembled respect.

"He ain't human, though. Cain's a Dogman."

Milagros raised her head. There was a flicker in her eyes—recognition, and then understanding, like old knowledge resurfacing.

"Ah," she murmured, nodding slowly. "That explains a lot."

William asked. "Why do you say it like that's a death sentence? You think they're… lesser?"

Letecia gave a lopsided shrug, twisting her lips.

"Well, sugar, let's just say even in our crowd, folks got their prejudices. Ain't no world out there without its little racisms—spoken or not."

William snorted.

"Let me guess. The logic goes: 'if he's a mutt, he must be brainless'?"

Letecia laughed, low and humorless.

"Not quite. It's more about where ya come from. What kinda demons or spirits you got mixed up in your bloodline. And for Dogmen—well…" She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. "Their roots are murky. Real murky."

Milagros folded her arms, leaning back with the kind of patience that carried weight.

"Murky's an understatement. Dig deep enough into old records and you'll find their ancestors were once cursed. The most savage warriors in the ancient wars—ruthless, treacherous, feeding on the dead just to survive. The Dogmen descended from them. Even now, most believe they're—" she paused, choosing her words carefully, "—tainted. Spiritually broken."

For a moment, none of them spoke.

William rubbed his temple and gave a weary chuckle.

"The irony's not lost on me. Here we are, monsters arguing about who's worse."

"Ha," Letecia breathed, resting her chin on her hand, a sly smile ghosting over her lips.

"Welcome to monsterhood, sugar. We all got dirt on our claws… some of us just got a little more blood mixed in."

William gave a dry laugh but it didn't reach his eyes. He toyed with his glass, watching the condensation trail lazy lines down the side.

"Sometimes I wonder," he said quietly, "how much of us is choice, and how much is just blood doing what it knows."

Milagros tilted her head, studying him the way she did when she was thinking too many things at once.

"Maybe it doesn't matter," she said softly. "We're all born with something inside us — curse, gift, whatever name people choose. The only thing that counts is what you do with it."

Letecia sipped her drink, letting the straw clack against the ice before speaking again — her voice slow, thoughtful, touched with that Cajun drawl that turned even quiet words into a rhythm.

"I dunno, sugar. You ever see a dog try'n fight its own nature? Tail still wags, no matter how much it's trained. Some instincts don't die easy."

"Spoken like experience," William muttered.

She smirked, eyes glinting. "Honey, if I told you all my experiences, we'd need a bigger cafeteria." The joke was light, but it carried an undertow — something too human, too tired to be just banter.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.