The Breaking Point
It was bound to happen.
Scott had always hated him, though Harry still didn't know why.
Maybe it was jealousy. Maybe it was something deeper, something rooted in the way the pack had shifted around him without his permission.
Either way, it didn't matter.
Because Scott had finally snapped.
It wasn't an attack this time. Not physically.
It was worse.
It was words.
Sharp, bitter words that cut deeper than claws.
"You think they actually care about you?" Scott sneered, arms crossed as he stood outside the café where Harry had been minding his own business.
Harry's jaw clenched. "I think I'd like to finish my tea in peace."
Scott scoffed. "They don't care, Harry. You're just a novelty. Something different, something broken they think they can fix. But guess what? They'll get bored. Just like everyone else does."
Harry stilled.
His fingers curled around his mug, a slight tremor running through them.
Scott didn't stop.
"They're wolves. Pack means everything to them. And you? You don't belong."
A cold, ugly laugh bubbled up in Harry's throat. "And you do?"
Scott's eyes flashed red.
"You're nothing special," he spat. "Just some stray they picked up out of pity."
Something inside Harry snapped.
The air around them crackled, the café lights flickering as raw magic bled into the atmosphere.
Scott staggered back, eyes widening.
For the first time, true fear crossed his face.
Harry stood slowly, his presence suddenly heavy, suffocating.
"I have never needed pity," he said, voice deceptively calm. "And I certainly don't need validation from you."
Magic curled around him, invisible but felt—a power ancient and untamed.
"Let me make one thing very clear, Scott." Harry stepped closer, forcing Scott to retreat. "You don't scare me. You never have. And if you ever try to undermine me again, I will remind you why it's a very, very bad idea to piss me off."
Scott swallowed, fists clenched.
But he didn't argue.
He couldn't.
Because Harry wasn't weak.
He never had been.
And finally, finally, Scott understood that.