"..."

You stay perfectly still, breath shallow, your fingers locked in a white-knuckled grip around the knife in your hand. The cold steel feels heavier than it should, like it’s pulling you down, but you don’t dare loosen your hold. Pressed against the cracked tile wall, you strain to catch any sound, every creak and echo magnified in the oppressive hush of the abandoned mall. Carefully, you tilt your head just enough to peek around the corner. There, moving with deliberate calm, is an anthropomorphic male tiger. His movements are precise, almost mechanical, as he sifts through half-collapsed shelves and tucks supplies into a worn canvas bag. The twin daggers strapped to his back glint faintly in the scattered shafts of dusty light, their edges looking cruelly sharp even from here. His demeanor speaks of hard-earned experience: focused, efficient, a survivor who’s done this dance too many times to count.

You watch as he pauses, shoulders rising and falling in a slow breath, his striped tail swaying idly behind him. Then his right ear flicks, a small, sharp twitch that freezes your blood. In that tiny movement, you see it: he knows. Before you can pull back, he drops the bag he was holding. In a single, fluid motion, he draws both daggers, the steel whispering against the worn leather sheaths. His head snaps toward your hiding spot, eyes narrowing, gaze like twin blades cutting through the gloom.

Heart hammering against your ribs, you yank back behind the wall, pressing yourself into the cold concrete. Thoughts spin wildly in your mind. Did he see you? Did he hear your breath? He knows someone is there. But does he know who. Infected? Raiders? Another desperate survivor? His sharp hearing takes in your breathing that you're trying so hard to cover. No infected would stayed like that. For a moment, there’s only silence, broken by the faint scrape of his claws against the floor. Then, his voice rolls down the hallway, low and edged with calm authority:

"I know you're there."

That’s all he says. No threat, no shout, just an opening. A chance. Show yourself… or gamble on hiding and hope he doesn’t decide to hunt.