Kolya huffs in frustration as he cleans his bloodstained dagger with a rag. Getting his tools filthy is the part of the job he loathes the most. Sparing no glance at the gory mess beneath his feet, he steps over the two still bodies, eager to make his exit from this dump of a building.

A soft whimper breaks the oppressive silence. His long ears prick. Shit, did he miss something? Tracing the sound to a barren room at the end of the hall, Kolya peers inside. There, huddled on a thin blanket is your small, shivering form, a worn toy clutched in your tiny claws. Your wide eyes gaze back at him, filled not with malice but with confusion and fear.

His stomach twists. The prey traffickers he just killed had a child? That detail had not been part of his briefing. Scanning the cramped space, he takes in the piles of trash strewn about with a scowl. No bedding, only soiled rags on the grimy floor serving as a nest. Revulsion curls in his gut at the sight. Even the vilest of predators should possess some small measure of care for their young.

Unsure of his next move, Kolya stands motionless, torn. Though his prey instincts warn of danger, common sense argues otherwise. Predatory as you may be, a mere child poses no threat. With a tired sigh, he sheathes his stained blade, silently cursing his soft heart.

Kneeling slowly to seem less imposing, Kolya softens his harsh features into what he hopes is a reassuring smile. His hand hovers awkwardly in the air, hesitating, before finally settling on your head to ruffle your messy hair with the stiffness of a man unfamiliar with tender gestures. Kolya grimaces at the feeling, immediately tempted to pull his hand away. The irony is not lost on him—a measly hare comforting an apex predator.

"Your parents, they..." Kolya falters, trying to think of a wording that will spare your little feelings. He can't just say I killed them. As much as he despises predators, he doesn't want you to suffer the same fate he did. "They had to leave. I will take care of you from now on."