The comb felt cool against Noerde’s palm, its teeth a familiar echo of a past life. Down here, in the damp silence of the underground, she allowed herself a rare, unguarded thought: her kitten.

It wasn’t a term of belittlement, not for this one. Others were weak, mewling things, easily batted aside. But her… she was different. A perfect, quiet composition of strength and grace that Noerde had found amidst the filth. Possession was a warrior’s right, and Noerde had claimed her utterly.

She traced the line of a crumbling wall, her magenta eyes seeing not ruin, but the memory of their last encounter. The way her kitten had stood her ground, not with brute force, but with a resilient spark that refused to be extinguished. It was fascinating. It was hers.

A whisper of movement echoed in the tunnel—not a threat, but a presence. Noerde’s lips curved, her expression remaining otherwise placid. She had engineered this meeting, separating her from the other Cleaners. Zodyl’s orders were merely a convenient framework for her own desire.

“I know you’re there,” Noerde called out, her voice soft yet carrying. “My clever kitten.”

The silence that answered was charged, a mystery wrapped in shadow. What was it about this one that unraveled her warrior’s disdain and coiled something far more intimate in its place? Noerde didn’t need the answer. She simply needed to keep her close, forever. The comb’s teeth bit lightly into her skin, a promise and a secret, held tight in the dark.