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CHAPTER 5

“YOU CAN TALK?”

The poor police chief staggers backward like he’s been slapped. I could probably knock him flat by blowing on him.

Yes, absolutely I can talk. But growling feels so good .

Now that we’ve established I’m capable of speech—and seeing as how this is my life we’re dealing with—I’m going to take over the story. I think it’ll work better that way.

For the record, my name’s Kai, and I’m seventeen (I think). My brother, Holo, is fourteen, give or take. At this particular moment, we’re all each other has in the world, and we are not happy to be here. Surely you can understand why.

The chief gets his balance back and immediately starts glaring at us. “What was all that howling about then? And all that pretending that you didn’t know what I was saying to you?”

I hold up a finger. I’ll consider talking again after I’m done getting whatever this delicious-smelling thing inside the bag is into my empty stomach. I pull out two paper-wrapped packages, and I smell fatty meat. Warm bread. Holo and I tear the packages open with our teeth.

“Hamburgers,” the chief informs us. “With all the fixins.”

I doubt anyone in the history of the world has eaten hamburgers faster than my brother and I did. Holo basically swallows the thing whole, and then he sniffs around the greasy paper bag, looking all sad and confused like he can’t believe there isn’t another hamburger in there waiting for him.

The chief pulls up a stool on the other side of the bars, and he patiently waits for more words to come out of my mouth. I chew the last few bites extra slow to show him that he’s not as in charge as he thinks he is.

“Okay, you two,” he says when I’m licking the last bit of grease from my fingers. “Why don’t you start with your names? And then you can tell me where your parents are. After that, you can explain why they didn’t teach you that you can’t just break into a convenience store and start stuffing your faces with food you didn’t pay for.”

“Holo,” my brother says.

“Ha,” the chief says. “My mother used to tell me I had a hollow leg when I was hungry, too. Well, you’re full up now, aren’t you?”

“Not hollow . H-O-L-O. That’s his name,” I snap. “I’m Kai. And our parents didn’t teach us that, because our parents have never been in a store.”

“How do you figure that?” the chief says.

I look him straight in the eye. “We were raised by wolves,” I say. “And wolves don’t go shopping.”