Chapter 263

Brett's Perspective Yeah, things have been pretty good lately. Don't get me wrong, my old life had its perks. School, homework, those "meaningful" summer camps my parents loved, even sneaking out for a street race… they had their moments. But compared to *now*? They were nothing. Now, it feels like I've been rebooted. No—like I've started actually *living*. Living like a wolf, not some domesticated, declawed dog taught to follow "rules." Yard time is the best. Sunlight—even the weak kind filtering through razor wire. Cold air. Rough concrete. And the guys—no, the *wolves*. We shove, we roar, we fight over half a crumpled cigarette or an extra scoop of mush. The wet thud of fists on flesh, the sharp *crack* of teeth snapping near an ear, the raw, gritty smell of sweat, blood, and dirt… it gets my blood pumping faster than any music, any cologne ever did. We spit into the guards' blind spots, seeing who can hit farthest. When we see