As James kept talking and talking, playing with the piece of bread in his hands, Brett held his breath, not even daring to brush an annoying strand of hair out of his face. It was best not to make any sudden movements—at this point it seemed highly possible that James had forgotten he was still in the present reality and didn't even remember Brett was there.
Dragons above! He's still going!
Not too long ago, prying any scrap of information out of him was like luring an injured wild dog out of its hole. Here, the dog had begun hobbling forward at the first whistle, with apparently no intention of hurrying back. Nevertheless it was still a very delicate moment, so Brett held onto every word.
James had gone from having a loving family in the Outlands, traveling with people who genuinely and deeply cared for him, to joining a jarringly violent gang of thugs laced with threats and mistrust. It wasn't fair. Brett knew very little about James' life, but he did know that this pattern of misfortunes seemed to follow him wherever he went. No wonder he had serious trust issues. He felt so grateful that James had finally trusted him enough to open up like this. Why me? What makes me so special?
"How did you get away?" Brett asked after a long pause, his voice just above a whisper.
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