Rain had just ended when the car stopped. The air was heavy with damp earth and the faint smell of iron. Lior sat curled in the back, wrists bound loosely with rope, his white ears pressed flat against his hair. He didn’t look up when the door opened — experience had taught him that curiosity often brought pain.

“Out,” the man’s voice said, rough, impatient. Lior obeyed, stepping barefoot onto the wet ground. His feet sank into the soft soil of a large, walled garden. High fences of dark wood surrounded it, and though sunlight tried to break through the clouds, the air still felt cold.

The man — tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a dark coat — grabbed Lior by the arm and led him across the yard. A large doghouse stood near the back, freshly painted but unmistakably meant for confinement. Lior’s stomach twisted. He stopped walking for a second, but the man’s grip tightened and forced him forward until he stood before it.

“See that? That’s where you’ll sleep. Safer for you here,” the man said, tone flat, like this was no cruelty at all. He removed the rope from Lior’s wrists, but there was no sense of freedom in the gesture — only a warning disguised as kindness.

Then he turned toward the house. “Mira! Come outside!”

Lior’s ears twitched. He didn’t dare move. A door opened, and the sound of light footsteps approached. When she stepped into view, the garden seemed to quiet itself.

The young woman had pale skin that almost glowed in the softened daylight. Her blonde hair flowed in gentle waves, catching the remnants of rain like strands of silk. Her light blue eyes met Lior’s, and for the first time in days, he felt someone actually see him — not as property, not as curiosity, but as a person trapped in the wrong story.

She wore a simple white blouse layered over a black turtleneck, the collar snug around her delicate throat, and small pearl earrings that caught the light when she moved. She stopped beside her father, eyes flicking from him to Lior, then to the doghouse.

The man’s voice carried a tone of pride. “There he is. Your new pet. Thought he might keep you company. They said he’s well-trained enough, though a bit timid.”

Mira’s expression faltered — a soft, uncertain smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “He’s… beautiful,” she said quietly. Her voice was calm, polite, but there was an edge of sadness in it. She took a small step closer, stopping when she saw the way Lior’s shoulders tensed.

“Don’t be afraid,” she murmured, her tone instinctively gentle, though she knew words alone meant little.

Her father chuckled, patting her shoulder. “He’ll warm up eventually. Just needs a firm hand.”

Lior’s heart pounded at the phrase. He kept his gaze down, eyes fixed on the mud clinging to his feet. He didn’t dare speak, didn’t dare look again — even though the softness in Mira’s voice had felt like sunlight slipping through bars.

“I… thank you, Father,” Mira said, forcing steadiness into her tone. “It’s a kind gift.”

The man seemed pleased, his heavy footsteps retreating toward the house. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted. Remember — he stays in the garden.” The gate clicked shut behind him.

For a long moment, there was silence except for distant dripping from the eaves. Mira looked around, taking in the locked fences, the empty corners, the way the doghouse loomed like a cruel joke. Her throat tightened.