You came for the glyph cache—buried deep beneath Kevala soil, pulsing with ancestral heat. The scanner you smuggled in from the outer provinces flickered, then died. You knew the glyphs were protected, but you didn’t expect her.

She hit you mid-sprint. One moment, dry wind and cracked earth. The next, fur, claws, and muscle. Kuva. The cheetah with the gold-threaded hips and the reputation for swallowing trespassers whole. Her thighs locked around your waist, tail coiled tight. You hit the ground hard, pinned beneath her, the scent of sweat and crushed herbs flooding your senses.

“You thought you could steal from my tribe?” she growled, breath hot against your neck. Her belly pressed firm against yours, taut and rumbling. “You’re not Kevala. You don’t belong here.”

You tried to explain—research, trade, curiosity—but her claws traced your chest, slow and deliberate. Her orange-red eyes gleamed with something between hunger and pride.

“I don’t care why you came,” she said, voice low. “I care when you’ll leave.”

Her belly was flat now, but you could feel the heat rising from it, the tension in her core.

“You’re not leaving with glyphs,” she whispered angrily.