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It was amazing how much Hera's life hadn't changed since taking in a werewolf and his adopted ward.
For months, Hera had been stuck. After discovering the complex in the mountains and tracking the Grand Inquisitor's movements, she hadn't learned anything new. It was only in the hours in the pre-dawn that she could sneak North to try and glean any weakness in the complex's defenses, but it was essentially a fortress. Not just the compound itself, but the rotation of guards that patrolled the area around. She could only watch helplessly from a great distance as supplies were brought in, along with the occasional pour soul in chains.
So when she stumbled upon a lone wolf stalking the same facility, one that moved in a way that was not quite natural, she had been half expecting it. There was no way she had been the only family searching for answers. And considering her brother's 'condition', it also seemed likely that other 'recruits' might have families that were not entirely human.
When her presumptions ended up being correct, the only reason she let Kanan and Sabine stay under the same roof as herself was to help garner some trust between them. They had barely been in town a week, and already Kanan had insights she hadn't gleaned after months of investigating. It gave her hope that she might finally be able to finally find her brother and break him out.
Unfortunately, those insights had been few. In the days that followed, Kanan and Sabine did their own investigating. Of course, Hera had already scoured the local gossip, bribed and flirted out any information on the Northern complex and on Isaac Jackson. Despite Kanan being a werewolf - a pure blood, because apparently that made a difference - he wasn't able to figure out anything beyond what he already knew: that Isaac Jackson was a werewolf as well and that whatever the other werewolves were experiencing in that compound, it was a hell on earth.
Kanan had tried to stay optimistic for the first few days, insisting that there were more leads and clues to investigate. But after over a week, with nothing to show for it...
Well, they were in a tavern. And while he had avoided turning to drink in the beginning, his own despair slowly began to take over.
Hera had sworn to herself that Kanan and Sabine were just a means to an end. That they would trust each other enough to both get what they wanted - the liberation of their family members - and that would be that.
But then, as the days stretched on into weeks, as they got to know one another, Hera realized that she found Kanan to be... fascinating. Not because he was a werewolf, but because of who he was as a man. The scarring on his face helped obscure his age, but at some point, she realized that he was not actually that much older than her. From the small details Hera had gleaned from what Kanan and Sabine have both said... Hera doubted he was even thirty.
And werewolf or human, to be so young and to have two shavers in his care... How he had managed it, Hera didn't know. She had found it hard enough to take care of her brother, and she had managed to find a decent and reliable source of cash. But Kanan... he was a passionate person. Fiercely protective of those he considered his 'pack', to the point that it was driving him to insanity knowing one of his own was a prisoner.
On a quiet night, Sabine spoke a bit more about Ezra. The boy had already suffered so much, had a myriad of abandonment issues... Kanan and Sabine were both scared that this extended time without being saved would make those issues even worse. Ezra was a sensitive soul, and every day he remained with these bastards was another that would bear down on his fragile psyche.
It was no wonder Kanan was such a mess, but Hera couldn't help but feel frustrated. Kanan was supposed to be a breakthrough, and for a brief moment, it had been. But knowing that Isaac Jackson was a werewolf didn't actually benefit them. It wasn't something they could use effectively as blackmail. So despite Kanan's insights, Hera was no closer to finding and liberating Jacen than she had been before.
The hopelessness was bearing over all of them.
At the very least, Hera could occupy herself with the running of the Spectre. Sabine had begun to help out as well, carrying out food and drink and dealing with dishes. With his blindness, Kanan had relegated himself to either shutting himself up in their room upstairs or sulking at the end of the bar nursing a drink.
It's been nearly a month since Kanan and Sabine had arrived in town. In the last week and a half, they had been at a loss for what else to do. Without some way to enter the military facility, without some sort of inside man... There was very little they could do. And the last people soldiers would let into their ranks to were the likes of the three of them.
When there was a slight lull in the evening service, Hera went over to lean on the other side of the counter from Kanan. He sat up slightly with a sigh. Whether he just had a sense of her presence or something more wolfish like smelling her, he always seemed to know when she was near despite his blindness.
"Have you eaten?" Hera asked quietly, busying her hands by organizing the clean steins behind the bar.
Kanan took another sip of his drink. "You mean besides some mormon tea?" He shook his head. "Not so much."
"You really should," Hera said pointedly. It wasn't just the drinking. As the days passed, Kanan was neglecting himself more and more. His beard had grown out, he forgot meals even while he made sure that Sabine was eating regularly.
"I'm fine," Kanan said, swirling a finger around the rim of his glass. "I eat occasionally when I patrol."
Hera pressed her lips together. It was difficult to wrap her mind around Kanan eating game like a wild animal. Still, "I'll get you a bowl of the house stew."
"Hera - "
"Kanan," she said firmly, putting a hand over his. "You won't be any good to Ezra by turning yourself into a white liner."
Kanan looked like he wanted to argue. But then his shoulders slumped slightly, and he nodded. "Fine," he said, his voice clipped.
Hera smiled at the small victory. "I'll be back in a moment."
After leaving him with his dinner, handing him a spoon, Hera went back to the other patrons. It was late enough that drink was going out at a much higher rate than food. People were getting louder and more rowdy, although most of her regulars knew to behave themselves. Hera was no push over, and she's put more than one spooney on the prod out on their asses. She's actually earned herself a bit of a reputation as a fair and unflappable tavern owner with her demon cat. As long as things didn't come to blows, Hera welcomed the lively atmosphere.
But then, all of a sudden, a hush fell over tavern, starting from the entrance and radiating outward. It took a moment for her to see why. Someone had just stepped inside, and the first noticeable detail was that he was wearing a military uniform. Soldiers tended to avoid this part of town, particularly in uniform. Coming into the Spectre was a bold and dangerous move on his part.
In her periphery, Hera saw Kanan suddenly sit up, his knuckles paling as his grip on his spoon tightened. His nostrils flared as he breathed in deeply, his sightless eyes widening.
Then the soldier stepped further into the tavern into the candle light, and Hera felt the blood drain from her face as she recognized the face of Isaac Jackson: the Grand Inquisitor.
When Kanan first got a whiff of the lycan bastard, he thought he was imagining it. It wouldn't be the first time his imagination had become manifest as he obsessively pondered what Ezra was going through.
Then the tavern became noticeably quiet, the bastard's scent becoming almost stronger, and there was no denying it. The man was here.
Kanan could almost taste blood as he imagined himself leaping at the bastard, shifting and going straight for his throat. The fact that they were surrounded by humans be damned, this man stole his pup.
Every muscle in his body was tense as he resisted his instincts. If he was here, that meant he must know that Kanan was here as well. After several nights of stalking the perimeter of the complex, of course this Inquisitor would have gotten a whiff of his scent and come to investigate.
But as far as Kanan could tell, he was all alone. There weren't any other werewolves with him, natural born or otherwise.
The boot steps were loud as the Inquisitor stepped through the tavern, closer and closer to Kanan. Fear and anger began to fill the tavern as the patrons kept an eye on the newcomer. He must have been in uniform, why else would they pay the man such attention?
Then the Inquisitor was standing right by Kanan's side, pulling out the empty stool beside him. Kanan was digging his nails into the flesh of his palm. He couldn't risk destroying the countertop in front of so many other people. The taste of sour bile filled his mouth as the Inquisitor sat down next to him.
"I didn't expect to find the likes of you in a place like this," the Inquisitor said, his voice infuriatingly casual.
Kanan moved very purposefully as he placed the spoon down on the bar and straightened his back. He didn't bother to turn toward the man. They both knew what was going on here.
No, that wasn't true. The Inquisitor had no reason to know that Ezra was his. If he had, he wouldn't be addressing Kanan so easily and calmly.
"And what is that supposed to mean?" Kanan replied, not bothering to hide his snarl.
As it became clear that the Inquisitor was not interested in anyone besides Kanan, the usual idle chatter resumed, creating a convenient din for the Inquisitor to speak freely and only be heard by Kanan. "For a purebred like yourself to be in the company of all these... humans," the Inquisitor said with naked disdain. "How you can handle the stench of humanity is beyond me."
Kanan slowly swept his hand over the bar until his fingers brushed against his glass, taking a healthy gulp of the burning liquid. So the Inquisitor was a lycan supremacist. That explained how the man could so easily stand the stench of suffering in that complex. Lycan supremacists believed that werewolves who had been made by being bitten were inferior half-breeds. Usually they simply killed bitten werewolves while keeping their packs 'pure'.
Although this brought up other questions. Kanan was sure the she-wolf he had smelled earlier had been a turned wolf like Ezra. So why would a man like the Inquisitor be working alongside someone he thought was inferior? She hadn't been another prisoner like Ezra, Hera would have said if she saw a second prisoner when Ezra had been brought in.
"You don't have to deign yourself to live with these humans," the Inquisitor went on. "There are so few of us these days. You deserve to stand with your own kind."
Kanan frowned as he continued to sip on his drink. "What are you saying? Just spit it out."
The Inquisitor chuckled. "I've seen you around. I see the way you move, the way you hold yourself... Despite your disability, it's as clear as day: you used to be a soldier."
Kanan pursed his lips, a chill going down his spine. The Inquisitor has been watching him? And he hadn't realized it? How had he not scented the man earlier?
"There could be a place for you. No longer would you have to wallow among these humans. You can have a partnership with one of your own kind."
"What kind of place is this exactly?" Kanan spat. His anger was genuine, but so was his curiosity. If the Inquisitor was referring to the complex, this could be the breakthrough they had been praying for.
There was a brief pause. "I know you've out to see our facility up North," the Inquisitor said. "Tell me, brother: what is your interest in our little project?"
Kanan wracked his brain for a possible explanation to give. He certainly couldn't tell the truth, even though it was mind boggling to imagine that he was the first werewolf to come after their missing packmates.
Then again, most werewolves who have been turned, if not taken in by the pack that turned them, were left to languish on their own. If they had surviving family, they were almost always killed or abandoned. The fact that Hera had stayed by her brother's side was extraordinary. So maybe Ezra was the first prisoner they'd captured that actually had a surviving pack.
The Inquisitor had no reason to know that though, and Kanan was not about to tip his hand.
"I could smell the other wolves," Kanan said quietly. "What on are you doing to them?" There was no point in beating around the bush. The smell of their fear and pain was nauseating, even from a distance. The Inquisitor couldn't believe Kanan could stand the scent of humans, Kanan couldn't imagine breathing in that suffering for any extended period of time.
The Inquisitor chuckled. "Putting some half-breeds in their place. Or more specifically, giving them a genuine purpose in their otherwise pointless lives."
It wasn't anything Kanan hadn't already known or expected, and yet to hear it spoken aloud as such, it made his insides clench painfully. He wondered how fast the Inquisitor was. Would he be able to react in time if Kanan shattered the glass in his hand and sliced through the man's throat?
But the Inquisitor not only had the advantage of sight, killing the man wouldn't actually help Ezra. He'd still be trapped in that hell.
The only course of action available to Kanan...was to play along and hope he could find Ezra and Hera's brother.
So, ignoring the horrible nausea and bile in the back of his throat, Kanan forced himself to turn to the Inquisitor and smile. "What sort of purpose?"
He could practically smell the Inquisitor's satisfaction. "Why don't you stop by the facility tomorrow? Just ask for Isaac Jackson, and I can give you the full tour."
The Inquisitor didn't bother saying farewell as he stood and left Kanan alone in the corner. Kanan was frozen in his seat, his mind reeling. His hands ached, and he could smell blood from where he had dug his fingernails into his palms.
Only moments after the man left, Hera and Sabine were both by his side. "What was that about?!" Sabine hissed.
"... That was Isaac Jackson," Hera stated simply. She didn't say anything else, just waiting for Kanan to speak.
Kanan swallowed down the lump in his throat. Then he let out a shaky sigh, trying to cling to the sliver of hope that had sparked in his chest. "I think we have a way in."