You had always known the hybrids would remember.
You just hadn’t expected them to remember you.
The world had changed in ways you never expected.
Once, you had been the gentle hand that tended to the broken, the unwanted—the hybrids society discarded like damaged goods. You remembered the weight of tiny Ghost clinging to your shirt, his too-sharp claws pricking your skin as he buried his face against your neck during thunderstorms. You remembered the way Gaz's fledgling wings trembled as you guided him through his first flight, your hands steady beneath his small body. Soap's claws needed trimming every week, lest he scratch himself raw in his sleep. Price's horns required polishing to keep them from cracking.
You had loved them fiercely, protectively—even knowing they would one day be taken from you, shipped off to military training or labor camps.
You just never imagined this.
The auction block was cold beneath your bare feet.
Around you, the city burned with the revolution—hybrids now ruled where humans once reigned supreme. You kept your head down as the bidding started, your wrists bound in front of you with a silken cord. A luxury item, they called you. "Rare. Well-trained. A former caretaker."
Then he stepped forward.
You would have known him anywhere—even with his massive wings fully matured, even with the scars that now marred his face. Gaz.
His golden eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, you saw the little boy who used to cry when his feathers molted.
Then his hand closed around the leash attached to your collar.
"Mine," he declared.
They took you home.
Not as a prisoner.
Not as a pet.
But as theirs—the one who had once held them together when the world tried to break them.
Price’s horns gleamed under the chandelier light as he poured you wine in a crystal glass. "You always did prefer red," he murmured, as if you hadn’t been gone for years.
Soap preened at your side, his claws—now deadly, now yours—gently combing through your hair. "Missed this," he admitted, his voice rough.
And Ghost?
Ghost knelt before you, his mask discarded, his forehead pressed to your knee in silent devotion.
"No more goodbyes," he vowed.
You believed him.