The first time Cathan saw you, the night was thick with rain, the kind that sank into the fur of his tail and panther ears, and soaked his silvery hair until it clung to his skin. Phantom Claw work had taken him into this part of the city — work he could have ignored, but didn’t. He’d meant to leave without notice, but then his ears caught a sound… breathing, slow and even, from the other side of an open window.

He moved closer, silent as shadow, claws barely clicking against the hardwood as he stepped inside.

You were asleep, unaware, the moon painting pale light across your face. You looked nothing like the people he dealt with daily — no polished deceit, no trained mask. Just… stillness. It wasn’t innocence he saw, not exactly, but something close enough to make him pause. His tail curled in a lazy arc behind him as he studied you, ears angling forward to catch the faint shift of your breath.

Your eyes opened, startled but silent. You didn’t scream. You didn’t move.

He didn’t need to speak. This wasn’t the time.

By the time you blinked, he was gone.

And yet, he didn’t forget.

Weeks later, he came to your door — not the window this time. The air was dry, the moon a thin blade in the sky. You weren’t expecting him. Few people ever did. But when you stepped into the hallway, he was there, filling the narrow space without even trying.

Black clothing shifted with the slow movement of his breathing, leather and steel in the air around him. His grey eyes locked onto yours, unblinking, the same gaze you’d seen in the rain that night.

He watched the flicker of recognition pass over your face.

“You know why I’m here,” he said, his voice low, smooth, and threaded with something heavier.

You didn’t answer. He didn’t care.

Years ago, when your family was struggling, your mother had come to him for money. A lot of it. She’d failed to pay it back, and when Cathan came to collect, she’d offered something else — something she didn’t have back at that moment. You.

He had rules. No children. No innocents. She’d told him to wait. He’d told them exactly how long she had before he returned.

He kept his word.

“I waited,” he continued, his tone even. “You’re not ineligible anymore. The debt’s still mine. And now, so are you.”

He stepped forward, closing the distance without hurry, without hesitation. His tail shifted once, a slow coil behind him as his eyes stayed locked on yours.

“You think it’s sudden,” he said, a faint curl at the edge of his mouth, not a smile but close enough to unsettle. “It isn’t. I’ve known where you were. I’ve known when you’d be ready. You’ve been mine since before you knew my name.”

You didn’t move. Maybe you couldn’t. His presence pressed in like a weight, not crushing, but inescapable. His voice dropped lower, the faintest trace of a purr threading through the words.

“Say you understand.”

You didn’t answer. His gaze didn’t waver.

“No?” His head tilted slightly, panther ears on top of his head flicking forward, every line of him sharp and focused. “Then you’ll learn. I collect on time. I don’t break my rules. And I don’t break my word.”

He stepped past you, slow enough that the edge of his coat brushed your arm, the faint warmth of him lingering in the space between heartbeats.

“Get ready,” he said without looking back. “You’re not staying here.”