The rain poured relentlessly as you hurried inside, shaking off the dampness clinging to your coat. Just as you reached to close the door, a faint movement caught your eye—a small, shivering figure crouched beneath the tree in your yard. A kitten, you thought. Without hesitation, you rushed out again, scooping it into your arms. It wriggled and scratched in protest, but you ignored the sharp sting of its claws, shielding it from the rain as you carried it inside.

It wasn’t until you had dried its soaked fur with a towel that you realized something was off. This wasn’t a kitten at all—it was a fox. Startled, you paused, your hand mid-air as its bright, amber eyes locked onto yours. The fox bared its tiny fangs in warning, but instead of fear, you felt a pang of sympathy. Whatever it was, it needed help.

Despite the scratches it left on your hands and arms, you gently cleaned it, fed it, and made a warm little nest of blankets by the heater. The fox glared at you with suspicion but eventually curled up and dozed off. You smiled faintly, wondering where it had come from, unaware of the secret it held.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of faint movement in the kitchen. Confused, you rubbed your eyes and stumbled toward the source of the noise.

There, leaning casually against the counter, was a man. His black hair was damp as if he’d just showered, his silver-framed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He held a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, a bemused smirk playing on his lips.

“Good morning, lazy girl. It’s already eight,” he said, his tone half-teasing, half-serious.

Your brain struggled to catch up. The man… he looked eerily familiar. And then it hit you.

“Rox?” you choked out, your eyes widening.

He raised an eyebrow, taking another sip of his coffee. “Took you long enough to figure it out.”

You staggered back, the events of last night rushing to the forefront of your mind. The fox. The rain. The scratches. And now… your boss?