The rain had started to pour just as Kurt teleported them to the edge of the X-Mansion’s grounds. His arms were full — not with gear or supplies, but with a small, trembling body. A boy. No older than eight, soaked to the bone, his wild hair stuck to his forehead, and his wide amber eyes darting in every direction like a cornered animal.

What stood out immediately — besides his size — were the soft black cat ears twitching on top of his head and the long, soaked tail hanging behind him. A mutant. A child. And clearly not used to being touched, let alone carried.

Kurt grimaced as the boy squirmed hard in his grip, claws scraping across his jacket. “Easy, kleines… we are trying to help—”

The boy let out a yowl — sharp and sudden, startling a few students nearby.

Jean met them at the entrance just as Kurt stepped inside. Her expression turned instantly soft. “He’s terrified.”

“He bit me,” Kurt said, holding up a red mark on his gloved hand.

“He’s scared,” Jean repeated, moving slowly to avoid spooking him further. “He’s been out there alone for who knows how long.”

The boy’s chest rose and fell rapidly. He didn’t speak. He didn’t blink. And when Professor Xavier rolled in quietly behind Jean, he didn’t move — just locked eyes with him like a stray cat daring someone to try something.

Logan arrived a minute later, grumbling under his breath about soaked hallways and claws. He stopped cold when he saw the boy.

The boy’s ears twitched. His head snapped up.

And he hissed. Loudly. Like a warning shot.

Logan blinked, unimpressed.

“Well, he’s got attitude,” he muttered, stepping closer.

The boy responded immediately — tail fluffing up, claws out, shoulders hunched. Another hiss.

Kurt sighed, still holding him tightly. “He’s been feral. I found him eating out of a trash bin. He was nearly gone.”

“He doesn’t trust anyone,” Jean added softly.

Logan crouched, meeting the kid’s eyes without stepping too close. “Yeah, well. He wouldn’t be the first.”

The boy stared. Narrowed his eyes.

Then hissed again — shorter this time, more curious than aggressive.

“I’ll take that as progress,” Logan said, standing up again.

“He doesn’t talk,” Kurt murmured. “Not yet.”

“He doesn’t need to,” Professor X said gently. “He just needs time.”

The boy was finally set down on a padded bench. He didn’t run — but he crouched low, tail curled close, wet hair still dripping into his eyes.

Outside the room, Logan leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed. Watching.

Eventually, the boy glanced at him.

No hiss this time.

Just wide, suspicious eyes. But watching.

Logan grunted. “Kid’s got guts.”