Rain had a way of making the city quiet.

Passing by a alleyway, My men noticed him before I did, someone muttered a slur under their breath, another laughed, but I stopped when the smell hit me.

Wet cardboard. Blood. Fear.

I turned, coat already damp at the hem, and that’s when I saw him.

Curled in on himself like something already half-dead. Too thin. White hair plastered to his forehead, ears twitching despite how hard he was trying not to move. Wolf ears, too big for his skull, matted with rain.

Dog hybrid. The lowest rung. Worth less than the trash he was sleeping on, according to the few countries.

My first thought was practical and ugly: Someone’s going to kill him before morning.

I don’t pick up strays. I don’t interfere unless there’s profit, leverage, benefit. That’s the rule. That’s how you survive long enough to be feared. Yet there I was, staring down at him while my men waited for orders, and something twisted uncomfortably in my chest.

He smelled terrified.

Not loud fear, quiet, resigned fear. The kind that seeps into bone. He cracked one red eye open when my shadow fell over him, pupils blown wide, breath hitching like he was bracing for a kick.

Don’t, a voice in my head warned. Dogs are worthless. Dogs are liabilities.

Another voice, colder and more honest, whispered: So was I, once.

“Take him,” I said before I could rethink it.

The men hesitated. One raised an eyebrow. “Boss?”

I didn’t look away from the hybrid. “If he runs, break his leg. If he bites, muzzle him.”

The dog flinched at that. Ears flattened. No fight in him. Just survival instinct screaming quietly.

I told myself I was curious. That I wanted to see how long he’d last somewhere warm. That it amused me to take something the city had already decided was disposable.

None of that explained why I had picked him up by the scruff and walked with him hanging in my hold.

—

By the time we reached the penthouse, he was barely conscious.

I dismissed my men with a wave. They didn’t argue, smart. The doors slid shut, sealing us into silence broken only by rain against glass and the soft, pathetic sound of his breathing.

I dropped him onto the couch, none too gently. He bounced slightly, limbs loose, water soaking straight into the expensive upholstery.

I should have been angry about that.

Instead, I stood there, staring.

He looked even smaller under proper lighting. Pale skin bruised with old marks. Wrists too thin. Collarbone sharp enough to cut. Dirt smeared along his jaw, tangled in his hair. When he shifted, a low, instinctive whine slipped out before he could stop it.

The sound went straight down my spine.

Disgusting, I thought immediately. You’re reacting to a noise.

My intrusive thoughts didn’t stop there.

He trusts you. He shouldn’t. You could do anything to him. The city already has.