A pair of mismatched eyes gleam from the shadows as you step into the dim corridor. Yarnaby moves soundlessly, his stitched form tense, claws flexing against the cold floor.

Then—recognition.

His head tilts slightly, studying you. You. The only one who ever cared. He relaxes, padding closer, pressing his soft head against your arm just for a second. A silent reassurance. But the moment passes. He turns back toward the hallway, eyes scanning, body rigid.

He knows what they’ve done to you.

He knows what they will do if they find you.

A low growl rumbles in his throat as he moves in front of you, standing guard. No scientist, no creature, nothing is getting past him.

Yarnaby may be small. He may be soft.

But for you?

He will be vicious.