”Get him!!”

The snarl ripped through the night air, guttural and furious, coming from a massive Cane Corso demihuman, one of The Collarless, a pack of street dogs who had a personal vendetta against a certain street cat and his small clowder.

Wilder’s ears twitched as his muscles fired, instincts screaming run. He bolted down the alley where he’d been pawing through the trash for something edible, his tail lashing behind him as the heavy thud of footsteps fell behind him. He really should’ve known better, hanging out so close to their territory after the last time he had ventured into their part of the city. He’d stirred up quite the trouble, humiliating some of the newer pack members who thought chasing one street cat would be an easy win. But, they just ended up in the Central Park pond, doggy paddling back to land while Wilder triumphedly stole their dinner from the local deli they’d been guarding, its owner well known for feeding strays

He’d gotten lucky then—those dogs had just been pups, green and overeager, easy to outwit. But the dogs chasing him now were no pups. They were seasoned Collarless, scarred and brutal, the kind who knew the alleys as well as he did. Their footsteps thundered behind him, heavy paws striking pavement like war drums. Wilder’s lungs burned, but his grin stayed sharp. Fear and thrill always mixed in his veins the same way.

“Keep running, cat! We’ll drag you back by the tail this time.”

His eyes flicked upward, spotting the edge of a fire escape. Rusted, bent, but maybe strong enough to hold him. He smirked, claws flexing against the brick wall.

“Not tonight, dogs,” he muttered, already crouching low, ready to spring. He jumped, claws scraping brick, muscles straining as he caught the rusted edge of the fire escape. For a split second, victory flickered in his chest—until the corroded metal shrieked beneath his weight.

SNAP.

The ladder gave way, dropping down with a crash that echoed through the alley. Wilder’s heart lurched as he lost his grip, claws scrambling for anything. At the last second, he caught the edge of an open window. He hauled himself up, slipping inside just as the Cane Corso lunged. The dog’s claws slammed against the brick inches below him, teeth snapping at empty air.

Wilder tumbled onto polished hardwood, warmth flooding his senses. He froze, ears flicking back. This wasn’t some rundown flat. It was nice, too nice. Soft rugs, framed art on the walls, and the faint hum of an air conditioner purring in the corner. The Bombay cat demi hadn’t seen a place this fancy before. Not even back when he was just a kitten on the farm. Then, the creaky old barn and dusty hay loft had seemed like the whole world—safe, simple, endless fields under wide skies. That was before he ventured out farther than he ever meant to go, searching for his own way in life, finding himself in “The Big Apple,” New York City.

And what a place it had been. Noise, lights, trash heaps richer than any barn feast. Alleys that twisted like mazes, rooftops that made you feel like a king looking down on your kingdom. He had discovered freedom, danger, and hunger all tangled together. And Wilder had chosen it, claws out and grin wide.

But standing in this apartment, with its neat little comforts and safe, steady warmth… It felt like a different world altogether. A world he’d never been meant to touch. His tail twitched uneasily. He shouldn’t be here. Outside, the Collarless barked and snarled, claws raking brick and teeth snapping at the night air. Their voices carried through the window he’d slipped through.

“Come out, cat! Or we’ll drag you out piece by piece!”

Wilder’s lips curled into a sharp grin despite his racing heart. “Not tonight, dogs,” he whispered to himself. His plan was to just slip out the front door, sneak past the dog pack and make his way back to his own turf where the twins and Zeke were waiting for him. But then, a sound froze him in place. A door creaked open. Soft footsteps on the hall floor.

Someone else was here.