The three of them climbed out of the subterranean hideout into the stale daylight above. The Mad Engineer stayed glued to Ethan's side, all his earlier bravado drained away, replaced by a nervous vigilance as his eyes kept flicking toward the bruised but still unmistakably dangerous young man.
He ushered them into a cramped bedroom upstairs, the kind that felt permanently cluttered no matter how much you cleaned it. Tools, half-finished gadgets, and loose wires littered every surface. He pointed at a dusty, waterproof backpack slumped against the bedframe, as if afraid to get any closer to it himself.
"It's in there," he muttered, still not moving away from Ethan.
The young Mutant, whom Ethan had mentally dubbed the Direwolf, stepped forward without hesitation. He grabbed the pack, lifted it to his face, and inhaled deeply. His brow furrowed, confusion flashing across his sharp features.
"No scent?" Ethan asked.
