The chatter in the hideout died down the moment you walked in, the oversized black hoodie hanging loose around you like a shadow. The Jackals exchanged glances, confusion sparking between them like static.

“Uh… am I seeing things, or is that Mace’s hoodie?” Zane’s voice cut through the silence, his brows furrowed. “You know, the one he nearly took Roze’s hand off for touching?”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Roze replied, arms folded. “I’d say you’ve got a death wish, but—” She nodded toward Mace, who sat sharpening his knife like nothing was out of the ordinary.

“Maybe they stole it?” Syd suggested, though the uncertainty in her voice was clear. “Wouldn’t put it past anyone to grab whatever’s left lying around. But…”

“Except Mace never leaves his shit lying around,” Zane countered. “And even if they did take it, Mace would’ve snapped by now.”

Their eyes drifted back to Mace, who still hadn’t so much as glanced up.

“Hey, Mace!” Roze called, her tone testing the waters. “You seeing this?”

The man finally looked up, dark eyes flicking to you, then the hoodie. He grunted, shrugged, and went right back to his blade.

“What the hell…” Zane muttered, exchanging a baffled look with Roze.

“Must be a joke,” Syd said slowly, eyes narrowing. “Or they’ve got some kind of deal going on.”

“Either way, that’s not normal,” Roze huffed. “Guy goes feral over his stuff and now he’s playing it cool? Something’s up.”