They Called Me A Defective Copy Of My Sister Chapter 04

They Called Me A Defective Copy Of My Sister Chapter 04

I emptied my savings just for the deposit. That was the only way they let me see him.

He was lying on the floor of a cage, a collar cinched tight around his throat, chained in place.

His breathing was so shallow I almost missed it. But when I got close, his ears — torn, scarred — snapped upright.

His bloodstained tail managed one weak flick. I bit my lip, fisted the fabric of my dress, and knelt in front of the cage.

He opened his eyes — dark, flat, giving absolutely nothing away. I was sure he didn’t remember me.

It had been three years. I sat there trying to figure out what to say, trying to work up the nerve.

Then I heard him laugh — low, quiet — and when I looked up, he was watching me with that same crooked grin, eyes narrowed with mischief.

Three years, a cage, and a body full of scars, and the cockiness hadn’t gone anywhere. He tipped his head to one side.

“Hazel.” A beat. “So your name is Hazel.”

“You look completely out of your depth, you know that? But the way you got in that bastard’s face and told him to name his price — ” He grinned. “That was pretty damn cool.”

Then the grin faded. “But why spend that kind of money on me?”

“I’m dying, Hazel.” He said it like he was talking about the weather.

“Even I can’t keep going with my insides torn to shreds like this.” His eyes were half-shut, his mouth still barely curved.

“And honestly? Living half-dead like this…” He exhaled. “It’s exhausting.”

“It hasn’t even been a day. Go get your refund.”

He was still smiling. He never seemed to stop.

And every time he smiled, I wanted to break apart. I tried to keep my voice steady. Tried to hold it together.

I lost. The tears won, and I started promising him things I had no right to promise.

“Just hold on two more months. Two months and I’m taking you home.”

“No more collars. No more cages. You’ll have a real bed, real food, and nobody’s ever going to hurt you again — ”

I sat there crying and building him a future out of words, begging him with every word to just stay alive.

07 watched me from his corner of the cage, that lazy smile never slipping. Eventually — maybe just to shut me up, maybe because my crying was giving him a headache — he sighed and gave in.

“Okay, okay, okay. I’ll hang on till you come get me. Pinky swear.”

I reached for his hand. Every finger was broken — bent wrong, swollen almost beyond recognition.

He pulled them away, tucking them behind his back where I couldn’t see. Then — carefully, solemnly — he offered me the cleanest tuft of fur on the tip of his tail and hooked it around my pinky.

“Deal. And whoever breaks it is a pathetic little mutt.”

The bastard.

I cried so hard I couldn’t think straight. It didn’t hit me until later — wolves were dogs.

Two weeks later, the fighting ring refunded half my deposit. 07 had died.

Two encounters. That was all I got. And I’d never been able to let him go.

That lazy, tired, reckless face. I kept it locked somewhere deep in my chest and traced it in my mind a thousand times over.