They don’t remember the wild only the shape of it in their bones.

Two hybrid tigers, caged in concrete and glass, born somewhere between science and spectacle. Too strange for the forest, too fierce for the circus. Now they pace one silent, the other always watching.

The crowds come and go. Faces blur. Phones click. Children scream. But inside the cage, time moves like fog.

They speak in glances, shoulder brushes, low huffs pressed into each other’s fur when no one’s looking.