***A few hours earlier***

After Dylan's forced departure from Harmony he traveled behind Artemis building which stood east of Alpha building, it was just as aged and wrinkled with deteriorating cream paint like the bark of a tree. Behind Artemis building was an arched bicycle shed containing only a few bikes leaning against one another; and a lone scooter that could only belong to a child.

Dylan lifted a seaweed green BMX with neon green wheels, its coat of paint faded in areas leaving metal polka dots around. He adjusted the seat down to a level of comfort before swiftly pedaling round to the entrance of the estate.

He jerked suddenly and felt an increase in weight, the scent was enough for him to know that Michael had just jumped on to the two thick metal polls which stuck out the back wheel like horns.

"Where we going?" Michael's hands were stuffed in the pocket of his grey tracksuit as he balanced on the two polls.

"Shop."Dylan snapped. "You gonna get off now?"

Michael was unfazed by Dylan's frustration towards him. "Nah, I'll come with, haven't been shop in time."

"Run there then, I ain't your taxi." Dylan stopped pedaling, he kicked the ground, bringing them to a halt.

"C'mon, give man a break, I've been running all week." Michael pleaded.

Dylan accepted his friend's troubles and resumed pedaling. "Best hold on then."He zoomed past several shops, rapidly weaving between pedestrians and diving low as he avoided objects. Michael at the back placed a hand on Dylan's shoulder and kept the other hand in his pocket, he stood firmly at the back, giving no indication he was about to fall.

As if by teleportation, they arrived at a grand supermarket filled with the sound of beeping and occasional announcements through the tannoys.

With a basket in hand, Dylan led the way. He stopped at the meat section, picked a pack of steaks, sniffed it, then put it down for a better one.

Michael prowled the aisle. "Ahh, I love the smell of this place."

"Pick what you want while we're here," Dylan advised as he inspected the fish.

"Already did." Michael gestured his head towards the basket which had been filled with several packets of prawns, fish, meat, chicken, and anything that pleased his nose. "Wouldn't it have been easier to do this while on the bike?"

"Too easy to trace it back to us." Dylan also didn't want to cause police-trouble for his father. He held the steak and fish side by side.

"Then we ditch the bike and steal another one." Michael took the items from Dylan, then chucked them into their basket. "K, let's go."

Dylan continued to the seasoning aisle, picking one of each flavouring and leaving Michael in shock.

"What we doin here for?" He questioned.

"None of your business. Make sure the barcode is gone from all those, can't have the alarm ringing." Dylan explored the shop further. He picked a few vegetables along with a cookbook.

A passing grey-haired woman, possibly in her eighties, caught Michael tearing a barcode from the cling film which packaged the chicken legs.  Michael gestured for her to keep quiet: he pressed a finger by his lips, flashed a cheeky wink, then waved her away, which she quietly did.

He resumed tailing Dylan whilst kicking the basket far across the floor like a football, attracting the disapproval of nearby shoppers. "This ain't for you is it?" He voiced his suspicion of his friend's chosen foods. "No one in the pack needs seasoning, and you definitely hate your veggies." He picks up the basket to run up to Dylan. "Must be that new girl." A dubious, mischievous, grin grew on his face.

Dylan had been worried about Harmony. The pack didn't eat cooked food, but she's unable to follow their diet, unfortunately, money was too scarce to eat out.

He thought about how his dad would solve the issue.

Empathetic that she would never taste her father's cooking, Dylan felt the least he could do was learn to cook for her.

Before Dylan could respond, a heavily built man in a navy blue security guard uniform, approached the two.

"What have you done ?" Dylan accused his friend in a sharp whisper.

"Nothing." Michael's self-doubt was present in his voice.

"A customer reported witnessing the lad with the braids removing barcodes from products, since this is an act of theft, I'm going to need the two of you to come with me." The guard spoke harshly, his thick dark eyebrows and frown gave off an impression of strictness and intolerance.

Michael dashed to the right of the guard whilst dribbling the basket, meanwhile, Dylan sprinted left, they were soon chased by the tortoise-like Guard. Michael would purposely slow down till the distance between the guard and himself deteriorated to a meter, then he sped up again, a grand smile emerging on his face. He travelled to the bread aisle, before kicking the basket to Dylan who took it to the sweets aisle.

The two teasing wolves drove the Guard into a pit of confusion and breathlessness as they spiralled from aisle to aisle, passed the basket from one to the other; and then like ghosts, they vanished, in laughter.

Dylan took into consideration how long ago Harmony ate when he complained to Michael to hurry up.

The incoming, eardrum bursting, screech of a police siren signalled the werewolves' departure.

They became blurred by the speed of Dylan's pedaling, however, bicycles have their limits. The chain clanked, returning the pressure Dylan applied to the pedals back into his knee joints.

"Argh!" He instinctively reacted to the instant pain.

A second after freezing, the pedals resumed moving, however looser than before and without control of the wheels.

"You good?" Michael left his jokes aside out of concern for his friend.

Dylan attempted to lift his injured leg but his joints clenched and popped like an unmoveable stone. "Yeah, but the pedals ain't working." He explained.

Momentum kept the bike's wheels moving. Using the breaks would catapult the two into who knows. Their bodies could withstand the impact and although the pain from his leg was barrable, Dylan didn't have the time or patience to hop away from the police who were somehow still in pursuit. He could only turn and avoid objects and people.

The sirens were like the raw of a predator, sending waves of unease to Dylan and Michael as it drew nearer.

"Go back to the pack," Michael instructed.

Concerned over causing trouble for his father as well as the pack, Dylan had been avoiding routes leading to their estate.

"Too risky," Dylan replied.

"Mate trust me," Michael added.

Dylan returned them on route to the pack. When they were close enough to the entrance Michael dropped the basket of food before instructing Dylan to jump off.

The Alpha's son turned to the side so his legs were together, after spudding Michael's fists, he hopped off the still speeding bike.

Like a tightrope walker, Michael traversed the gap between himself and the bike's handles. With the police caught up again, he led them away.

The inconvenience caused by not being able to bend his leg led Dylan to bang his knee with his fists, pushing his joints back into place. Though the popping sound and warm pain remained he was able to walk without drawing attention, a slight limp hidden in his movements.

Back in his flat, Dylan left Michael's stuff to the side then prepared his ingredients. Since he took whatever caught his eye, parts of the cookbook contained ingredients he didn't have, instead, Dylan decided to improvise.

He brought out a wide deep pot which he stole from the shop, then dropped a steak and some vegetables inside, sprinkling over every seasoning he had.

He contemplated what kind of food Harmony liked to eat, whether it was more wolf-like or human, he concluded that she likely ate human food because her father cooked for her. To adhere to his conclusion, Dylan added crisps, mayonnaise, ketchup, and icing to the mix. None of which he knew what actually was or tasted like.

As a werewolf, Dylan, like all of his kind, followed a diet almost identical to a wolf's, he couldn't eat things such as ice cream, burgers, or pizza, doing so would cause severe sickness. Most preferred to refer to this as an allergic reaction.

There was a day when Dylan's curiousity took over after seeing a horde of children his age at an ice cream van. A sympathetic parent bought Dylan ice cream, at first he felt normal as he enjoyed the sweet taste; but he was later overcome by a fierce bellyache followed by constant vomiting which lasted almost a week. Whilst recovering, eating became difficult, in total he was bedridden for almost a month.

Dylan grabbed a cup of water, he gulped the memory down as he drank, settling his scarred stomach.

Turning the stove on was like solving a rubric cube for Dylan, he fiddled with buttons, managing to light all four sections at the highest heat. Satisfied, he went to his room to ease his exhausted muscles through rest, without knowledge of when or how to turn the stove off.

Dylan had completed three smoke birthing mistakes: four hobs were allowed to remain with their flames although he only needed one, water hadn't been introduced into the pot which would have shielded his brew from burning; lastly, the plastic packaging for the steak was left close to the stove, over time it unraveled and came into contact with the blue blaze.

The smoke was still newborn, its throat gripping scent brought Dylan to the kitchen immediately, however his confusion gave it time to thicken with the spread of the fire.

The excitement he felt towards surprising Harmony with a cooked meal was encaged by devastation and self-directed rage as he saw the charred mess in the pot.

He needed fresh air from the intoxicating disaster, upon pulling the door back, Alvita stood in front like a reflection mimicking his actions.