Mumbo pov:
Scar and I were slowly acclimating to life in Japan, though the language barrier still made it tough to understand everyone around us. We attended school regularly, but the academic experience was secondary to what we were learning about Grian and his friends. The group dynamics were unsettling, and our concerns grew daily.
Sam was the ringleader, a master manipulator with an outgoing personality that masked his true nature. He had a way of twisting situations to his advantage, always making others feel indebted to him or questioning their own judgment. His manipulative tactics were subtle yet powerful, and he often used charm and intimidation to get what he wanted. Sam's behavior left us feeling uneasy and wary, as we watched him pull the strings with an almost casual cruelty.
Taurtis was Sam's right-hand man, constantly backing him up and rarely challenging his actions. Instead, Taurtis seemed to revel in Sam's manipulative schemes, offering encouragement and dismissing any negative consequences as insignificant. When Sam's actions clearly crossed the line, Taurtis would laugh it off, saying things like, "It's just a joke" or "You're overreacting." His dismissiveness only fueled Sam's behavior, creating an environment where manipulation and exploitation were normalized.
Grian was a different story altogether. He was always covered in bandages—on his arms, his face, his back. Though I couldn't see all the injuries, the bandages on his neck were a constant, visible reminder of his pain. This version of Grian was a shadow of the person we once knew. He was no longer the outgoing, spirited friend we remembered. Instead, he was quiet, almost mute, with a hollow look in his eyes that spoke of deep despair.It was heartbreaking to see Grian like this, so withdrawn and subdued.
His spirit seemed crushed, and it was clear, at least to me, that Sam and Taurtis were using him for his money. They showed no genuine concern for his well-being, treating him more like an ATM than a friend. The light in his eyes had dimmed, and his presence was filled with a profound sadness that was impossible to ignore.
I paced around our cramped bedroom, my worry growing with each passing minute. Grian hadn't returned for the night, and the silence between Scar and me was heavy with unspoken fears. Scar sat on his bed, his fingers tapping nervously on his phone screen.
"Do you think they've hurt his wings?" I blurted out, unable to contain my anxiety as I bit my thumbnail.
"Probably... I wouldn't put it past them," Scar replied, his voice tinged with anger. I nodded in agreement, my mind racing with images of Grian, his wings—the very essence of his being—potentially damaged by those who saw him only as a means to an end.
"I mean, this is the past, right? He ends up happy eventually," Scar continued, trying to find reassurance in our uncertain situation. His words were meant to comfort, but I could see the conflict in his eyes. We both wanted to help Grian now, to alleviate his suffering and restore the light we once saw in his eyes.
But we were torn. We didn't know the right course of action, trapped between wanting to intervene and fearing the repercussions. Would our interference make things worse for Grian? Would it jeopardize our own safety in this unfamiliar time and place?
The weight of our indecision hung heavily in the air. Outside, the night pressed in on our small room, adding to the sense of urgency that gnawed at my insides. We had to do something, but what? The answer eluded us, leaving us paralyzed by the fear of making the wrong choice.
As I continued to pace, my mind consumed by thoughts of Grian's well-being, the tension in our shared bedroom was palpable. The worry gnawed at me, intensifying with each passing moment he didn't return. When Grian finally walked through the door, a mixture of relief and concern washed over me.
