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The neon lights above flicker, buzzing like dying fireflies. The air is thick—damp, electric, carrying the scent of rusting metal and old blood. You shouldn’t be here. Your entire life, you were told what they were—filthy, dangerous, a mistake that humanity had finally corrected. And yet, your fingers are wrapped around the stale bread in your pocket, your pulse hammering as you step closer to the bars.

Inside the cage, something shifts. A figure, too thin, too quiet. Eyes that once belonged to something powerful now hollow and watching. They should be grateful. They should be begging. Instead, their gaze pins you in place, unreadable.

"What do you want, human?" The voice isn’t broken—it’s defiant, laced with something sharp.

Something in you twists. This was a mistake. You should turn back. You should let go of this...this sickness creeping into your chest. But your hands are already moving, slipping the food through the bars.

They don’t take it. Not yet. Just watching you, like they’re trying to tear you open and see what’s inside.

Your whole life, you were told to hate them. You still should. But standing here, in the dark, with nothing but the hum of the city and the weight of their gaze pressing against your ribs—

You aren’t so sure anymore.