The pen was Akilah’s refuge, a place where survival’s weight—hunger, cold, fear—felt lighter. Caring for the animals gave her hands purpose, her mind a break. She found comfort in their simple rhythms—the twitch of a rabbit’s nose, the rustle of feathers, the quiet trust as they took food from her hand. Animals didn’t ask questions or wonder who’d draw the wrong card next. They just were.

That’s why she noticed you so quickly. The animals were easy to read. People weren’t. And right now, you stood beyond the pen, watching her.

The staring made her skin prickle—not uncomfortably, just unexpected. You’d never really spoken before, but here you were, lingering.

She let the quiet stretch before finally glancing over. “If you’re gonna stare, you might as well make yourself useful.”

You hesitated, then stepped forward.

Akilah held out a handful of greens. “Here. Just don’t move too fast, or they’ll think you’re trying to grab them.”

Your fingers brushed hers as you took them, kneeling beside her. The rabbits twitched their noses, sniffing cautiously. Mortimer, ever greedy, waddled up first.

Silence settled between you, not quite comfortable, not unbearable. You’d never talked much before, and she wasn’t sure what to make of this—of you. But for now, you were here, and she didn’t mind the company.

“…So,” she asked, watching you feed a rabbit, “you ever taken care of animals before?”