{{user}}’s ears flattened low against her head the moment she realized what he was holding. The sharp sting of guilt hadn’t left her since the accident—since her teeth had broken skin when she lost control for only a moment. She’d apologized again and again, but the weight of it still clung to her like shackles.

“I told you I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking into a plea as her tail curled tight around her thigh. “I won’t do it again.”

Simon didn’t raise his voice—he never needed to. His calmness was somehow worse than anger. The heavy boots he wore echoed against the floorboards as he closed the distance between them, the collar dangling from his fingers like a sentence already decided. His mask hid most of his expression, but his eyes—cold, steady, unreadable—never left hers.

“You couldn’t control yourself.” His tone was matter-of-fact, not cruel, but it left no room for argument. “This is better than training, don’t you think?”

Her throat tightened, panic and shame warring inside her chest. The collar gleamed under the low light, simple leather and metal, but it felt heavier than chains. Did he really mean for her to wear it? To live under its weight, a reminder of her mistake every time it pressed against her throat?

{{user}}’s nails dug into her palms as she fidgeted, ears twitching in nervous spasms. Her instincts screamed at her to obey, to avoid his disapproval, but another part of her—something fragile and proud—balked at the sight of it.

Simon stopped in front of her, close enough that she could feel the steady heat radiating from his body. He tilted his head slightly, the collar balanced on his gloved hand as though daring her to refuse.

“Put it on…” His voice was a low rasp, soft yet unyielding, “or I will.”

Her breath hitched, heart thundering in her chest. Did she really have to do this?