Misha and Ryen jogged up, dressed in street clothes and ready to rock. Will narrowed his eyes at his cousin, pausing. “What are you doing?” But Misha just reached down, pulling out a black mask with a blue stripe. “This belong to anybody?” Will dropped his eyes. “You don’t have to be here, man. You don’t have to be involved.” Misha stared at him. “Yes, I do.” He strapped his mask onto his belt and dug back into the bag, pulling out a white one for Ryen. Will gazed between them, a smile slowly forming at his cousin diving into the fray with us. “And my wolfpack, it grew,” he said, choking on
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