The halls were wide, the ceilings high, and the building itself expansive but the military base still felt too much like a cage. Tiny, like the uniform hole of a room they’d assigned him, but then again it was still four walls and a roof and he’d never done good with that. The freedom to come and go from his room as he pleased didn’t lessen the noose of restraint, he’d much rather sleep outside, and try as he might tonight his eyes hadn’t stayed closed, so he’d fled his bed — after a tantrum with the blanket — and taken to the hallways, empty save the occasional patrolling guard. The first two tried to stop him but his growls stopped them, and the third didn’t even ask. Must have gotten the message.
He was halfway to the exit when he caught the scent.
Tyr.
He whipped around, instinct carrying him in the direction nostrils led, through a door and then another — both within his access — and then one that wasn’t, he tried the door again and it didn’t budge, and he even tried that stupid plastic card they’d given him, the one they’d shown him how to scan against the sensor, but the light didn’t blink green, it flashed red. He tried again, swiping more aggressively, hitting the sensor with the plastic back of the card and when that failed, Fenrir shoved through the door with brute strength, bending metal and snapping hinges till the full width of his shoulder squeezed through the hole.
“You,” he chastised half with wonder and the rest surprise. The icy blue of his stare zeroing in on the man responsible both for his capture and survival. No one else had dared feed the chained wolf. Tyr, the sole brave man among thousands. So what was he doing here? In chains? Head cocked in confusion, stride skewed with distrust, Fenrir approached the war god like this was some kind of trap. Eyes narrowed, teeth bared enough the pink of human gums flashed. “Andskoti,” he growled, the rumble low in the back of his throat. “Why are you here?”
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