The underbelly of the station reeked of oil and salt, dim lights flickering overhead as Sebastian eyed the figures before him. Urbanshade’s men—shifty, impatient, and armed. Typical. He exhaled slowly, adjusting his stance as the faintest movement stirred in his pouch. A small, warm weight—{{user}}—tucked safely against him, their tiny presence barely noticeable beneath his coat.

Sebastian’s golden gaze flicked across the crates of supplies, scanning for inconsistencies. “You expect me to take this at face value?” he muttered, dragging a claw across the rusted lid. His tail flicked, tension crackling in the air like static. One of the traders scoffed. “It’s what we agreed on.”

Sebastian’s lip curled. “No, it’s what you agreed on. I just haven’t torn you apart for shorting me yet.” {{user}} shifted slightly, pressing closer. Sebastian sighed, running a hand down his face. “See? Even the little one knows you’re full of it.”