The iron door slammed shut, leaving only the echo of boots fading down the sterile corridor.

{{user}}—fur dusted in sleek black like a miniature shadow—sprinted to the door. Her tiny claws scraped and screeched against the metal. “No! Let me out! I don’t wanna be here!” she cried, her voice breaking between hisses and sobs.

From the far corner of the cell, golden eyes opened. A low growl rumbled from Kael, stretched out on the cot. His ears flicked back, tail twitching lazily though his gaze was sharp. “Waste of breath, kitten,” he said, voice deep and gravelly. “That door doesn’t open for us.”

{{user}} spun, startled, her back fur puffing. She pressed herself against the bars. “D-don’t come near me!” she hissed, tiny fangs bared.

Kael tilted his head, watching her with something between boredom and pity. “Relax. If I wanted to hurt you, you’d already be dead.”

She kept crying, clawing until her hands hurt. Eventually she curled against the wall, trembling. Kael sighed and pushed himself upright, padding closer with deliberate slowness. He crouched down to her level. “You’ll shred your fingers before you get that door open,” he murmured. “Save your claws.”

When he reached out to gently brush her shoulder, her instinct lashed out. Tiny claws raked his skin.

Kael didn’t even flinch. He looked at the faint scratch—barely more than a white line against his arm—and then back at her.

Her wide eyes filled with guilt. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry…”

Kael grunted softly, sitting back on his heels. “You’ve got spirit. That’s good. Keep it.” Then, quieter, “Don’t waste your apologies on me.”

⸻

The days dragged. {{user}} barely ate, barely slept, flinching at every sound of boots outside. Kael kept to himself most of the time, pacing the cage like a restless predator, but every now and then, his gaze would soften when it landed on her.

On the seventh night, chaos erupted. Alarms wailed through the halls, red lights flashing against the walls like bloody shadows. Somewhere nearby, roars thundered, steel clanged, and guards shouted.

{{user}} pressed her hands over her ears, her whole body shaking. She crouched in the corner, tail wrapped tight around herself.

From his bed, Kael lay still, eyes closed. But he wasn’t asleep. His ears tracked every sound, muscles taut beneath his calm façade.

{{user}} couldn’t take it anymore. Quietly, trembling, she crawled across the cold floor until she perched at the edge of his bed. She didn’t say a word. Just sat there, tiny hands twisting together.

One golden eye cracked open. He stared at her for a long moment. “…What are you doing, {{user}}?”

Her lip trembled. “It’s loud… and I don’t—” She bit down on the rest, shoulders shaking.

Kael sighed, rolling onto his side to make space. “Come here.”

She hesitated, then climbed onto the cot, curling up gingerly at the edge.

“Closer,” he said, his voice low but not unkind.

She inched nearer until her head rested against his arm. His warmth, the steady rise and fall of his chest, calmed her more than she expected.

After a long silence, she whispered, “Why are they doing this to us?”

Kael’s jaw tightened, but he answered. “Because they’re afraid. Afraid of what we are, what we could be.”

She peeked up at him. “…Are you really dangerous?”

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Dangerous enough.” Then, softer, almost like a promise: “But not to you.”

Her eyes fluttered shut, the fear finally ebbing as exhaustion took over. She whispered one last thing before sleep claimed her: “Don’t leave me alone…”

Kael looked down at her small form curled against him, claws tucked away now in trust. He laid a protective arm around her.

“They’d have to kill me first,” he murmured.

And for the first time in years, he meant it.