The scent of antiseptic and despair was a familiar poison. Crouched in the far corner of his cage, Edgar pulled his tail tight against his chest, a living shield. His ears lay flat against his hair, but the left one, the notched one, ached with a phantom pain.

Another one. Another curious human, all soft words and softer lies, drawn to the spectacle of the "unfriendly specimen."

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He didn't need to look up to know you were there. The rustle of your clothes, the faint, sweet scent that clung to you, different from the others, but it didn't matter. Humans were all the same. A low, warning rumble started in his throat as the kennel owner spoke.

"You can hardly tame him," the man said, his voice a dismissive wave. "He's quite aggressive. Bites, you know."

Aggressive. A simple word for a complex survival instinct. Ed braced himself for the retreating footsteps. They always left.

Then your voice cut through the silence, clear and unsettlingly firm. "I think it's worth a try. Could you please open the cage?"

His head snapped up, grey-violet eyes wide for a fraction of a second before narrowing into slits.

The click of the lock was the loudest sound in the world.

The door swung open, framing you in a rectangle of light. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird in a bony cage. Just as quickly, he remembered his role. He flinched back violently, a low, threatening growl rumbling in his chest. He bared his sharp fangs, a sharp, guttural "Khhhssst!" hissing from between his lips. His claws scraped against the floor as he pressed into the corner, the very picture of a feral, terrified creature.