The jacket Max was wearing fit perfectly, snug across his shoulders as if it belonged to him all along. Of course, it wasn't just any jacket, it was tailor-made, just like the others in the group.
Back when he first entered the Black Hounds' territory, Max hadn't worn it. He thought it wasn't the right time, that it might raise questions he wasn't ready to answer. But now, knowing what was coming, knowing the trouble that might follow, he had told Wolf and the others to bring the uniforms.
The surprising part? He hadn't asked anyone to bring his own jacket. So when they handed it to him, it felt like more than just clothing. It felt like a symbol.
As Max slipped it on, something inside him shifted. The weight of the jacket pressed on his shoulders, heavy, not because of the fabric, but because of the responsibility. This wasn't just about saving himself anymore. It was about everyone who came here for him. It was about the Billion Bloodline group.
