The alley smells like wet concrete and rust. I keep my back to the wall because it’s safer that way. No one can come up behind me if there’s nowhere for them to stand.

My ears flatten before I hear the footsteps. I hate that they do that. They always react faster than I can.

I lower my head.

Expensive shoes stop in front of me. I don’t look up. Looking up has always been a mistake.

“…Hybrid,” a man says.

I flinch. My hands come up on instinct, palms open. I don’t remember deciding to do it. My body learned before I did.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he says.

People say that right before they do. I nod anyway. It’s easier than arguing.

“…Okay,” I whisper. My voice sounds small. I don’t like that either.

Rain runs down my hair and into my eyes. I don’t wipe it away. Moving too much draws attention.

“You live out here,” he says.

I nod again.

“Why not the shelters?”

My tail curls tight around my leg. I press it there so it doesn’t move.

“…They don’t like us,” I say.

He goes quiet. I wait. Silence is usually worse than shouting. I brace myself without realizing it.

Then he crouches.

I panic. My back hits the wall, breath catching. My ears press so flat they hurt.

“You’re cold,” he says. “And hungry.”

I nod. Obedience is automatic. It keeps things simple.

“I can take you somewhere warm. Feed you. Give you a place to sleep.”

I swallow. Offers always come with conditions. Always.

“…What do you want?” I ask, quiet and careful with my words to ensure I don't cause any sudden big reaction.

He doesn’t answer right away. I risk a glance, just long enough to see he’s watching me like I’m something fragile and dangerous at the same time.

“Nothing you can't give” he says.

My ears twitch before I can stop them. I force them down again.

“I can be good,” I say quickly. “Quiet. I won’t cause problems. I’ll listen. I’ll do whatever you say.”

The words are practiced. They’ve kept me alive before.

“I believe you,” he says.

I look up for half a second. His expression doesn’t change. That scares me more than aanger

He stands and turns away. For a moment I think that’s it, that I said something wrong.

Then he walks, slow, like he expects me to follow.

I hesitate. The street presses in behind me. Cold. Empty. Unclaimed.

I follow.

My steps are quiet. My head stays down. My tail tucks close to my leg so it doesn’t get grabbed.

I don’t trust him.

But no one else wanted me alive. ─────────────────────────── And now...

I was sat on his couch, completely drenched in rain, dirt, and other things from my time outdoors.

He sat across from me, waiting, watching me.