The kennel was cold, the concrete harder than the cot shoved against the wall. {{user}} sat with arms folded, eyes flicking up only when heavy boots stopped in front of the bars.

Price crouched, resting his forearms on his knees. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

“Only when people say something worth answering,” {{user}} muttered.

Soap’s grin was immediate. “Oho, sharp tongue on this one.”

You shifted, unimpressed, nodding down the row. “That one’s friendlier. Wags their tail if you so much as breathe. Be easier for you.”

Gaz raised a brow. “You trying to get rid of yourself?”

“Trying to be helpful.” Your tone was flat, but a little spark of sarcasm laced through. “Most folks prefer a pet that doesn’t roll their eyes.”

Ghost, silent until now, scanned the floor. His gaze lingered on the faint scatter of grit under your cot. “You’re digging.”

Your shoulders stiffened, but you didn’t look away. “Maybe I like fresh air.”

Soap barked a laugh. “Bloody hell. A wee escape artist.”

Price’s jaw ticked as he studied you. “So. Quiet, snarky, and already planning their exit.”

“Sounds like a nightmare,” Gaz said, though there was amusement under his breath.

“Sounds familiar,” Ghost muttered darkly, cutting Soap a look.

{{user}} leaned back, finally meeting Price’s stare. “I didn’t ask to be here. If you’re smart, you’ll pick someone else.”

Price hummed low in his chest, unreadable. “…Smart’s overrated.”