FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter One

Today was my departure day. I lay on my back in my narrow bunk, staring at the ceiling of my family’s trailer as it trembled with the vibrations of a passing aid convoy. Somewhere beneath the rusting ribs of my settlement, a generator coughed itself awake. An uneven thrum crawled through the ground and into my rundown home, ensuring none would have peace.

The lights in my room flickered to life, buzzing with tired color. Mornings in the enclave were always like this. Rolling brownouts. Random blackouts. Mechanics in the maintenance tunnels beneath our homes are fighting against nature, machines, and each other. Shifts were distributed so that only the most motivated were paid each day.

Dust descended in lazy spirals, catching the flickering lights of my less-than-humble abode. I look up at the ceiling; once white, now a mosaic of cracks and stains. Today, I leave for a new world. One that I hope is better. It has to be. The thought sat heavy on my chest. Not sharp or painful. But there, all the same.

I swung my legs over the side of my bunk. I stood, feeling the cold floor through one of only two pairs of socks that had managed to survive the constant rub of slightly oversized work boots at my daily factory shifts.

The trailer’s floor creaked with every step, as if it protested the idea of my departure. I stopped at the door of my room, listening to the familiar atmosphere of the enclave through the thin sheet metal walls that separated me from prying eyes and thieving hands. Distant shouting, the hiss of steam from ruptured pipes, the skitter of small rodents in our walls.

I had grown used to these sounds. They were the lullabies that eased me to sleep every night. The alarm that woke me each morning. My proof that, no matter how broken, humanity persevered in some form.

The mirror above the sink in my bathroom greeted me, as usual. A stubborn smear of grease that I can’t remove, and a crack that splits the reflection of my face. The thin, cheap glass had bowed over time, making my reflection look odd; long face, narrow shoulders. Hazel eyes—too tired for a twenty-two-year-old. Dirty blonde hair. It fell into my eyes on occasion, no matter what I tried.

I splashed water on my face. Lukewarm and metallic, carrying the taste of recycled… everything. I didn’t bother to shave. No one would care if the first human in Solaris City showed up with a bit of stubble. If anything, it might make me look less like they thought I was.

A ‘Dawn Flower.’

The phrase drifted through my mind like an uninvited guest. It had been brought into common usage decades ago by some anthro poet with a talent for sentimentality. Humans, once this world’s dominant species, are now reduced to fragile blossoms clinging to survival under careful cultivation. Critically endangered. Protected and preserved.

We all hated the term. But loved it as well, in a way none would admit. It implied we were fragile, but resilient. Beautiful, in a way.

“You awake, David?”

My mother’s voice carried the rasp of someone who worked too many shifts, breathing the foul air of a faulty recycling unit in the tunnels below. I turned to see her standing in the living room, leaning against a fragile wall, watching me. Her hair was pulled back in a practical knot, lined with premature silver. She was still wearing her uniform from her shift. A GAC maintenance team nurse.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I answered.

She nodded as her eyes moved past me, taking in the packed duffel bag I left outside the bathroom door. The sight seemed to steal the remaining strength from her posture.

“Well,” she said, “Coffee’s hot. As hot as it ever will get, anyway.”

I followed her to the kitchen. A short walk. I ducked beneath the strange ductwork that had partially collapsed halfway between the dining space and kitchen, even though it cleared my height. Running into it a few times before we managed to prop it up created a habit. The kettle sat on the counter beside two mismatched mugs. One is much larger than the other. We never had creamer, and I hated the bitter taste, but I always drank it anyway for the boost.

I looked down at them. One showed a faded skyline of an ancient, long-forgotten human city. The other had a paw print on it with the words ‘Pack Strong’ underneath, a relic of a GAC outreach campaign. She handed me the skyline mug.

“Thought you might prefer that one,” she sighed, “For… you know.”

Solaris City. I had seen it in videos and in brochures. Sky Piercers lined the city. We once called them Skyscrapers. The difference in vernacular is a subtle sign of how humans and anthro’s thought of the world in different ways.

I wrapped my hands around the mug, letting the warmth, what little there was, soak into my palms, “Thanks.”

We stood in silence, sipping coffee that tasted of burnt plastic and chicory. Outside, a burst of laughter could be heard. Someone else screamed. Life went on, messy as usual.

“I still don’t like it,” she said.

“I know.”

“They’re not human, David.”

I nearly spat coffee with a laugh, “Yeah… I know.”

“What I mean is that they’re very different from us. Average height of eight feet. Fangs and claws. Predators. All of them,” her voice was steady, but it was close to a tremble, “I don’t care what the GAC says about integration. You’ll be alone.”

“I won’t,” I said, though the image of walking the streets alone had haunted my dreams for weeks. “The integration program guarantees housing, free university, faculty assistance when needed, and so much more!”

She snorted, “Housing built for creatures who could use our entire trailer for a storage shed.”

I smiled despite our continued disagreement, “I’ll manage, mom.”

She studied my eyes, then my face. Trying to memorize it like she’d never see it again, as if I were a sailor of yore, doomed by the storms of the Atlantic. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me. My mother was small, even by human standards, but her grip was surprisingly firm. She smelled of iodine and sanitizer. A scent that meant home. A scent I’d never forget.

“Just promise you’ll be careful,” she murmured, “And don’t let them decide who you are.”

“I won’t.”

The front door slammed open, making us jump as if in sync.

“You’re really doing it.”

My little sister didn’t bother to hide her scowl. Lena leaned against the frame, arms crossed. Her expression was so sharp it could cut paper. She had inherited our father’s dark hair and his talent for turning anger into a shield.

“Leaving us here,” she snapped, “Running off to play pet for animals.”

“That’s not fair,” mom interrupted.

Lena waved a hand, “Isn’t it? He gets to live in some advanced anthro city while the rest of us stay here to rot.”

“I didn’t choose to be born in this enclave,” I said quietly, “And I didn’t choose the course of history.”

“No,” she shot back, “But you are choosing to leave.”

Her words cut deep, “I’m choosing to try to make things better for all of us. Someone has to.”

She laughed, abrupt and bitter, “Don’t forget us while you sit in their laps.”

The silence that fell over our small trailer drowned out the sounds from outside.

“I’ll send messages as often as I can.”

“Don’t waste your time,” she said, turning away, “We’ll see how long they let you pretend you’re still a human and not a pet.”

The door slammed behind her, shaking the entire wall.

Mom closed her eyes then sighed before reopening them, her composure collected once more, “She’ll come around.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

I set my half-full mug on the sink. The time had come. My duffel waited for me, scuffed and overstuffed with my meager possessions and a few pairs of clothes. I slung it over my shoulder, feeling comfort in its weight. Inside was my entire life, distilled into a single bag.

A faded paper photograph of my family, before it fractured. A worn journal, filled with observations, questions, dreams, and sketches. A few preserved rations, more for comfort and familiarity than necessity. Two days of clothes. That was it. Everything I had.

Mom walked with me to the edge of the enclave, past rusted and dilapidated trailers that were smashed together and long forgotten. Past alleys that smelled of foul and stagnant water, where neon lights reflected. People watched us pass. Some stared. Many turned away, as if I were a traitor they couldn’t stand to see.

At the transport platform, a shuttle waited. It was sleek and white. Impossibly clean with a surface unmarred by graffiti, bullet holes, or rust. The GAC symbol sat proudly on its side; a stylized globe encircled by paw prints. The door opened, seeming to sense my approach, and a ramp extended down to the cracked pavement.

I turned to my mom, one last time.

“I love you.”

She smiled, her eyes watery, “Go and show them what humans can do. Show them we are strong in ways they aren’t.”

I stepped onto the ramp, and the shuttle’s interior swallowed me. The seats were enormous, molded for bodies twice my size. I climbed into one and had to knot the seatbelt across my chest, pulling it tight. I felt like a child in a booster seat. My feet didn’t even touch the floor.

As the doors sealed with a hiss, the enclave fell away behind the shuttle’s glass. I watched it shrink as engines hummed, quiet and efficient. No sputtering or coughing like the ones I’d grown up with. We lifted into the air, and the sprawl of the enclave blurred into a patchwork of mismatched colors and rust, then finally into nothing as it settled in the cloud. I leaned into my seat, heart pounding. This is safe, I keep telling myself, they know what they’re doing with this technology.

I’d read that humans flew all the time before the Old World fell, but now it was reserved for those who chose to integrate or our few politicians. Somewhere between the ground and the sky, a door slid open near the front of the shuttle, and a mink stepped out. Her movements were precise and gentle. She smiled down at me, no teeth shown.

“David Stone?”

“That’s me,” I swallowed. I’d only seen a few anthros up close before. My factory’s owner, who stopped in on occasion but never said anything, and the aid convoys that would pass through the enclave.

“I’ll be your liaison for the duration of the flight,” she said, “If you have any questions about the Human Integration Project, HIP, now is a good time.”

I hesitated, then nodded.

“How many of us are there?” I asked, “The brochures don’t say.”

She tapped a sleek device that fit around her wrist. It projected a small holographic display, “In this region? Thirty-eight, including you. Over the last five years.”

The numbers were small, but it proved I wasn’t alone. That others wanted change like me. The shuttle surged forward, carrying us towards a city of giants and a future I couldn’t quite imagine.

“If that’s all, I’ll let you rest. I’m sure you have a lot on your mind, little one.”

I nodded to her and watched as she disappeared through the sliding door again. I closed my eyes, letting the gentle hum of the engines drown my doubts. The enclave was behind me. The New World waited.

At some point, a subtle shift in the output of the engines made me open my eyes. I glanced out the nearby window as we broke through the clouds. I stared up at the curved ceiling of the shuttle, where seamless panels fooled my eyes into thinking it was one monolithic piece.

I wondered how long it had been since something similar to this had been built with the design intended for humans. Maybe never. The attendant returned, an electronic pad in her paws. Her claws pressed into it, and I wondered how it would hold up to them.

“It’s loaded with orientation material. It’s not required viewing, but I’d definitely recommend it. It’ll help ease you in.”

I nodded and took the datapad. I glanced over it, looking for scratches where her claws had pressed into it. Nothing. No damage. Not even a scuff. I leaned back into my headrest. Extra words could wait for a little longer. My mind screamed loud enough on its own.

The enclave was already a shrinking memory, but it clung like a tick. Images flashed through my mind’s eye. The alley where I’d gouged my knee as a kid, blood mixing with oil-slick rainwater. The market, made of makeshift stalls and rundown trailers torn into sections. The nightly fires, burning in barrels, people clustered close. Not for warmth, but for reassurance that humans still stood together.

We had survived. Even if barely. That counted… for something.

I shifted in my seat, trying to find a position that didn’t make me feel as if I were sitting in the wrong seat. Something far too significant for my comfort. The seat contours pressed awkwardly into thighs, clearly designed for digitigrade legs and larger frames. I swung my feet a few times and then stopped, self-conscious even though I was alone in my row.

A flicker of motion caught my eye. Across the aisle and two rows behind me, an anthro reclined. A bear, judging by the muzzle and massive stature. He wore business attire, the jacket loose across his chest. His eyes were closed and his breathing slow and steady.

I wondered what he dreamed of. Did he think of the war the way humans do? As a thing that had stolen our dominance, to never be returned? Or was it just history, a little bit of myth layered with honor and necessity?

The Dawn Flower War had ended ninety years ago, but its shadow still stretched over humanity. I’d learned about it the way all human kids did in the enclaves. Fragmented lessons and stories that changed depending on who told them. We were told that humanity had overreached and clung too tightly to control as the world changed around us. We were told the anthros had risen against us in response, unified by necessity. Predator species forming alliances where none had existed before. It was brutal, fast, and final.

What we weren’t told was how it felt to be on the losing side of evolution.

The datapad chimed in my hands, grabbing my attention. I activated it by pressing a finger into the screen. It bloomed to life, displaying the GAC seal before transitioning into a welcome message.

‘Welcome to the Human Integration Project.’

The words were followed by the image of a human silhouette standing among towering anthro forms, all smiling and facing forward. It transited to a slate of text. I scrolled and skimmed the sections on rights, responsibilities and accommodations. Reasonable assistance. Cultural sensitivity. Mutual respect. The language was carefully chosen, polished to a degree that made it hard to see where the lines could be drawn.

A notification popped up in the top right corner. As soon as my eyes noticed it, it reacted, turning into a large pop-up.

‘Assigned City: Solaris.’

‘Assigned Institution: Apex University.’

‘Assigned Housing: Pack Dormitories.’

A Pack Dormitory. The phrase sent a shiver up my spine, despite the shuttle’s temperate climate. I knew, intellectually, that packs were the foundation upon which anthro society had formed and functioned. I’d read reports. The brochures had briefly covered it. Packs weren’t just family units. They were social units, support structures, and identity.

For humans, family has always been… loosely defined. Fragile, even. Something you could lose to distance, ideology, or bitterness. I wondered what it would mean to be folded into something so tightly knit. Whether I would even fit into the picture, or if I’d just be an accessory. Something fragile and protected to be displayed in a show of possession and pride.

A Dawn Flower. Carefully cultivated.

I closed the datapad and set it in my lap, drumming my fingers against its smooth surface. My reflection stared back up at me from the darkened screen, distorted by the curve, but less so than I was used to back home in the bathroom mirror. I looked small. Not physically, though that was true compared to this New World, but… metaphorically. Like I was just a footnote at the end of a massive scientific journal.

“First time out of an enclave?”

The voice came from above me. I looked up at the mink attendant, who stood next to my seat. Her ears flicked, betraying her curiosity.

“Yeah,” I admitted, “Is it that obvious?”

She smiled, a gentle curve to her muzzle that didn’t show fangs, “Humans are rare. And you keep checking the window like you expect the world to fall away.”

I glanced at the window. Outside, the sky stretched, endless and blue. No smog or the distant glow of industrial factory fires. It felt like a projection.

“Yeah… I guess I do,” I answered.

Her head tilted, “You’ll get used to it. Solaris can be overwhelming, even for an anthro. But Apex has good support systems, and the GAC has nothing but humanity’s best interests at heart. Your pack assignment was… thoughtfully made, as well.”

“Thoughtfully,” I echoed her, “That’s reassuring.”

Her tail flicked, followed by her ears, “You’re not the first human to feel the way you do. You’re just the first in this particular city.”

Her words were significant, even if simple.

“But not the first overall,” I said.

“No,” she confirmed, “Thirty-seven before you from this region. They’re scattered across different cities and institutions. Quiet pioneers.”

That phrase brought warmth to my chest. I imagined them, faceless but very real, stepping into places not made for them, carrying our species’ hope whether they wanted to or not.

“Do you ever hear from them?” I asked, “I mean… how have things gone for them?”

“Sometimes,” she straightened her posture, “Some thrive. Some struggle. A few have returned to their enclaves. Integration is a unique path for each human and their pack.”

I absorbed what she said. There was a degree of comfort in knowing that failure was an option. That I could return home and that choosing to leave didn’t mean permanent exile.

“Well,” she added, “If you need anything during the rest of the flight, let me know.”

“Thanks,” I said with a small smile, “Really.”

She moved on, paws silent against the floor. I leaned back again, letting my head fall against the back of the seat. The shuttle shifted as its course adjusted, banking towards the distant horizon. My stomach fluttered, equal parts nerves and anticipation.

I thought of my father, then. Not because I wanted to, but because absence has a way of calling for your attention. He’d left when I was twelve, slipping out of our families’ lives like dust falls through cracked fingers. No goodbye or explanation. Just a note that said he needed more than we could offer.

I used to hate him for it. For choosing himself over us. But now, strapped into a seat and bound for a city of our giants, I wondered if I could understand his decision better. Time stretched, and the shuttle’s interior lights dimmed, simulating a twilight. I closed my eyes, but sleep refused to greet me. My thoughts kept circling back to the same questions.

Would they see me as a person? Or a project? A pet? Would I be able to walk down a street without feeling like prey? Would I ever stop feeling like I’d wandered into someone else’s world and left my map behind?

I flexed my fingers, staring at them. Small. Human. Dexterous but unarmed. They could thread needles smaller than an anthro could hold. Coax delicate machines back to life in tiny spaces. They weren’t useless, just… different.

The war had taught the world that strength was to be valued above all else. Height. Fangs. Claws. But survival came in many forms.

The shuttle chimed, announcing we had entered Solaris airspace. I felt my chest tighten and my stomach lighten. My breath caught as I looked out the window, the parting clouds revealing glimpses of something vast and complex below. Not entirely, not yet.

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, trying to ground myself. Somewhere down there was Apex University. A dorm where my new pack awaited me. A future that didn’t include rusted trailers and power outages every day.

Somewhere down there, I would stop being a resident of a human enclave and become something new. A student. An experiment. A symbol. A human among giants.

The engines shifted in pitch as the shuttle began its descent. I squeezed the armrests as tightly as I could, but the material didn’t budge despite feeling soft. Whatever waited for me below… There was no turning back now.

The enclave was behind me, sealed away with the grime, dirt, and crime. Ahead lay a world that didn’t need me, but maybe could make room for me. As the city rose to meet us, steel and light climbing towards the sky, I whispered a quiet promise to myself.

I would not vanish.

I would not fail.

I would bloom. Even here.

I watched as curves of elevated highways came into view. Then clusters of towers that caught the sun and threw it back in blinding sheets of light. The whole city came into view. It sprawled out and up at once, an organism made of steel and glass and stone. Sky Piercers rose in jagged ranks, their profiles uneven and like that of mountains I had only seen at great distance.

Bridges arced between the Sky Pierces like ribs, thick and purposeful, carrying traffic at multiple levels. Far below, streets pulsed with the life blood of the city. Anthro’s moved in dense currents that flowed through plazas and grand streets.

I’d seen some footage. Everyone had. Carefully curated snapshots are shown in GAC briefings and public broadcasts. None of it was prepared for the scale. Solaris wasn’t big. It was beyond massive.

The shuttle banked, aligning towards a landing platform perched halfway up a tower. As we descended, details became clear. Windows the size of billboards. Doors that looked like vault entrances. Terraces layered with flora, engineered forests clinging to the sides of buildings, their roots anchored in reinforced soil beds, coexist alongside the lifeless steel, glass, and concrete.

Predator architecture, mom would have said. Designed to dominate, not negotiate. My stomach fluttered again, harder this time. Around me, anthro passengers stirred, stretching limbs and popping shoulders as if waking from a nap rather than entering a massive megacity.

A pair of felines exchanged low murmurs, tails flicking lazily behind them. The bear I had seen earlier rolled his neck, popping it several times. I was the only one still sitting, gripping the armrests like a lifesaver. The shuttle touched down with a muted thud, far smoother than any ground transport suspension back at the enclave.

A chime announced our arrival. Doors slid open and sound rushed in. Solaris city breathed. It wasn’t any one kind of noise, but a layer of many. The low hum of traffic below. The thud of heavy footfalls on walkways. Voices, deep and resonant, carrying over distances humans’ voices couldn’t hope to compete with. Wind soared through it all, whistling around towers, carrying scents that made my nose itch.

Clean air, I realized. Or, cleaner than I was used to. Underneath the metal, a slight ozone was something green and alive. The mink attendant stepped next to me, “Welcome to Solaris City,” she smiled.

I stood, nearly falling forward as my center of gravity reminded me I had been sitting in a seat not designed for my frame for hours. I caught myself on the armrests, face burning with embarrassment.

“Careful,” she said gently, her voice soft, “The scale will take time to get used to.”

“So I’ve heard,” I muttered.

I slung my duffel bag over my shoulder and followed the next set of anthros that passed my seat. As we stepped out and off the ramp, I felt strange. The floor felt wrong. The natural stride of those around had forced me to keep a pace that was uncomfortable and awkward. More than a power walk, but not quite a jog.

I slowed, letting the crowd part around me. That was when I felt it. Attention. It didn’t feel hostile. Not overtly. But it was focused. Heard turned. Ears angled. Noses lifted to scent me. Expressions shifted subtly as they processed what I was.

A human. Not on a screen. Not in an enclave. Here.

I kept my gaze forward, shoulders squared, doing my best to project a confidence I didn’t feel. Each step echoed loudly in my ears, my boots sounding thin and foreign against the reinforced platform.

We entered the terminal, a vast open space that made the enclave’s largest communal hall feel like a storage unit. The ceiling soared overhead, crisscrossed with beams as thick as tree trunks. Displays hung overhead, their text and symbols scaled for eyes much higher above the ground than my own.

I craned my neck, searching for directions. The letters blurred together. A pair of canids passed close by, their conversation rumbling through me. One of them glanced down at me, amber eyes widening.

“Well, I’ll be,” she murmured to her companion, “Didn’t think I’d ever see one.”

Her companion sniffed at the air, “Smells… fragile.”

Heat crept up my neck. I pretended to not hear them as I weaved my way toward the edge of the terminal, where the crowd thinned. My heart hammered as adrenaline spiked. My instincts screamed at me to find cover, higher ground, or anything that wasn’t center stage to a predator thoroughfare.

Apex University transport was supposed to meet me here. That was what the datapad had said. I scanned the area as anxiety tightened in my chest. Then I saw the sign.

‘GAC Human Integration Project Liaison.’

The letters were mercifully at a comfortable reading height, mounted on a thick pillar near an exit. Standing beside it was an anthro whose silhouette alone made me stop. She was tall. They all were. But her more so. Her ears brushed the bottom edge of the sign. Gray fur rippled over a powerful form. Her posture seemed relaxed to me, but alert. A wolf.

Her eyes found me not long after I saw her. There was no mistaking me for anyone else. She studied me for a long moment, her gaze steady, assessing. Not like curiosity. Like responsibility.

She stepped towards me, “You’re David,” she said. Her voice was deep and calm. It carried efficiently over the ambient noise.

“Yes,” I answered, forcing my voice to stay level, “That’s me.”

She nodded once, “I’m Officer Hale. GAC Peacekeeper detail. I’ll be escorting you to Apex.”

Relief and something else surged through my chest. Gratitude. Or resignation to my new reality.

“Thank you.”

She gestured a paw for me to follow and set off towards the exit with long, confident strides. I hurried after her, half-walking, half-jogging to keep pace. Each step reminded me just how much effort it took to exist at this scale.

Outside, the city hit me in full. The platform overlooked a dizzying drop, layers of stress, and rails spiraling downward. Vehicles moved along them like schools of metallic fish; their smooth motion was purposeful and deliberate. Above us, aerial traffic traced invisible lanes, casting shadows that raced across the walkways.

The wind was stronger here, tugging at my jacket, carrying thousands of overlapping scents. Fur. Metal. Food. Something sharp and chemical.

Officer Hale paused, glancing over her shoulder at me, “You all right?”

“Just… adjusting,” I said, which felt like the understatement of my life.

She tilted her head. Her ears flicked, and her eyes softened, “You’ll want to stay close. Solaris isn’t dangerous, but it isn’t built for someone of your size.”

I fought the urge to point out that nowhere was built for humans anymore. We boarded a ground transport, its interior cavernous. The steps were steep, each one nearly reaching my knees. I climbed carefully, wary of Hale’s eyes following my movement, ready to intervene if I fell.

The seats were arranged in clusters, designed for packs traveling together. Hale took one without comment, and I chose the spot closest to the aisle, where I could brace myself against a metal bar.

As the transport lurched into motion, Solaris City streamed past the windows. I drank it in. Markets are busy with anthros of every shape, fur color, and pattern. Stalls piled high with goods scaled to their sizes. Public plazas spread wide, open spaces where packs lounged together, bodies pressed close in formations that spoke of trust and belonging. Pups and kits and other anthro children raced around, their laughter echoing in my mind.

No humans. Not one. The realization settled over me slowly, and then hit all at once. In the enclave, we were everywhere. Here in this city of millions, I was a single anomaly. My chest tightened.

“Officer Hale?”

“Yes?”

“Do any humans come through Solaris? Even temporarily?”

Her ears flicked back, “No,” she answered, “You’re the first HIP case here. That’s why the detail is… thorough.”

I nodded, staring back out the windows. The city seemed to watch me in return, its towering structures indifferent to my presence.

Apex University finally came into view, perched on a plateau carved into the city’s upper tiers. Its buildings were older than the surrounding Sky Piercers, their stonework bearing marks of time and renovation. Massive banners hung from the highest facades, displaying the University’s crest. A stylized paw clutching a flame.

The transport slowed, pulling into an expansive courtyard paved with smooth stone. Students crossed the space in clusters, their conversations blending into a low and constant rumble.

Officer Hale rose, and I followed, heart pounding anew.

“This is where I leave you,” she said once we disembarked, “Orientation staff will take over from here.”

“Thank you,” I said.

She studied me for a moment, her gaze softer than the first time, “You’re brave,” she said simply, “That counts for something.”

Before I could respond, she turned and strode away, disappearing into a crowd. I stood there alone, duffel hanging from my shoulder, surrounded by the unknown. Every instinct I had told me I didn’t belong.

And yet, as I took my first steps toward Apex University, I felt something beneath the fear. A thin but stubborn thread of resolve, stretching forward into the unknown. I was here. And I intend to stay.

The courtyard swallowed sound in a way the terminal hadn’t. Stone dampened the padding of bare digitigrade paws, turning the thunder of movement into something lower. The air here was cooler, shaded by the surrounding university buildings, their walls rising like cliffs on all sides. I stood at the edge of the courtyard, focusing on slowing my breathing.

It didn’t help. Students flowed around me in wide arcs, their bodies instinctively giving me space without quite understanding why. Packs moved as cohesive units, members brushing shoulders, tails flocking in signals I couldn’t read. Their conversations rolled past me in deep, textured voices that vibrated in my chest with strange, animal-like tones mixed beneath the words. Purrs, growls, chuffs.

No one bumped into me, which almost made it worse. I had never felt so visible while simultaneously feeling so insignificant. Apex University was older than the city that now cradled it, at least, many portions of it. That much was obvious even to someone who had never set foot outside of an enclave before today.

The stonework bore scars of age and repair, sections of original construction reinforced with newer alloys and composites. The architecture favored height and open plans, towering arches framing entrances wide enough to accommodate a dozen students abreast.

The main doors loomed ahead, each one easily ten feet tall, reinforced oak and dark metal. They were propped open, but even so, crossing the threshold felt tremendous in a way I hadn’t anticipated.

I hesitated. This was it. The point of no return. Once I walked through these doors, I wasn’t just visiting. I was inserting myself into this institution and a pack. Its systems. Its daily rhythms. I adjusted my grip on my bag and forced myself forward. The arch passed overhead. Inside, the space expanded again. A grand atrium stretched upward through multiple levels.

Balconies ringed the walls, each one lined with students who leaned against railings, their laughter and conversations cascading down like water. Light poured in from skylights far above, catching motes of dust and fur, turning them into drifting constellations.

I stopped just inside, overwhelmed once more. The floor beneath my shoes was polished, cold, and unyielding. Inlaid into it was the university crest, large enough that I could have lain flat on it and not covered a quarter of it. I stood on the edge of it, afraid my footwear would scuff it compared to paw pads.

A few students noticed me. Not just in passing, but really noticed. A cheetah paused mid-stride, ears flicking forward, eyes widening. A pair of wolves on the far side of the atrium went quiet, their conversation trailing off as their gazes studied me. A massive tiger leaned closer to his companion, murmuring something I couldn’t hear.

Their looks weren’t cruel. They were curious, assessing, laced with disbelief. My shoulders tightened. I fumbled for the datapad I was given and activated it with my palmprint. The screen lit up, displaying a map of the atrium with pulsing markers that I could follow.

‘HIP Orientation: Level One, East Wing.’

Of course, it was quite the distance. I scanned the space, trying to orient myself. Despite the map, I was feeling more lost than ever. The atrium radiated corridors like the spokes of a wheel, each tall and wide, indistinguishable at a glance. Signs hung overhead, but the letter was scaled for those above my height. I squinted, craning my neck until it ached.

“Lost?”

The voice came from above and to my right. I flinched before I could stop myself, heart jumping from my ribs. A fox leaned against a railing next to the closest balcony, one arm draped over the edge. He looked… amused. Sharp eyes glinted as he observed me.

“I… I’m just navigating,” I said, trying to force a calm tone.

He chuckled softly, “The first day is a maze for everyone. Though I must admit, you are a new variable.”

I resisted the urge to rub my neck, “Yeah.”

He tilted his head, ears angling to focus on me, “You’re the human, right?”

The human.

“Yes.”

“Well,” he said, “Orientation’s that way.” He pointed down one of the corridors, his claw tracing an arc in the air, “Follow the banners with the blue flame.”

“Thanks,” I said, sincerity in my voice despite my fear.

He dipped his head casually, “Good luck, Dawn Flower.”

The term prickled against my skin as he turned away. I exhaled slowly, then set off in the direction I needed to go. The corridor stretched ahead, its ceiling high enough to disperse sound. My footsteps echoed faintly, blending with the ambient noise bleeding from adjacent halls. As I walked, I became aware of my body in this ample space. The way my shoulders barely cleared the lower edges of wall fixtures. The way the benches that lined the corridor came up high enough that my feet would dangle.

I paused, muscles trembling, and hoisted myself onto a bench to rest. I laughed under my breath. Short and humorless. So, this is what it feels like, I mused. To be… different.

In the enclave, things had been broken, neglected, jury-rigged. Here, everything worked exactly as intended. And that intent never included me.

Students passed, most looking at me as they did. Others deliberately looked anywhere but at me. A few slowed, driven by curiosity, but none approached. I was an anomaly best observed from a distance, like a rare mammal behind glass.

I hopped down and continued on, following the blue flame banners deeper into the building. The corridor opened into a smaller atrium, this one much more quiet. Its walls were lined with officers and administrative spaces. The smell changed, too. Metallic tang gave way to something more sterile. Cleaning agents and disinfectant. Papers. The ozone of electronics.

I checked my datapad. Close. A cluster of anthros stood near the far wall, deep in conversation. As I approached, their voices lowered, then stopped altogether. One of them, a lynx with tufted ears and keen eyes, turned their body to me.

“David Stone,” she said, not asking.

“That’s me,” I nodded.

“Good,” she replied, “We were beginning to wonder if you got lost.”

A ripple of low chuckles passed through the group.

“I’m Dr. Vess,” she continued, “Counselor for Apex University. We’ll be overseeing your initial integration.”

The others introduced themselves. A cheetah administrator with sleek movements and sharp eyes. A dhole assessor, wiry and restless, his gaze never still. They loomed, even while seated. Their presence filled the space.

“Before we begin,” Dr. Vess said, “We’d like to ensure you’re comfortable.”

I glanced around. The only available chair was, of course, designed for an anthro. Its seat was deep and high. I sighed, “I’ll manage.”

She considered for a moment, then nodded, “Very well.”

As they led me to an office door, I caught my reflection in a glass panel. Small. Alone. But my eyes were steady. Whatever they saw when they looked at me, I refused to let it be fear alone. I followed them inside. The hydraulics closed the door with a soft hiss. And with that, my old world was another step behind me.

The room was too clean. Not sterile - not exactly. It didn’t smell like Mom’s uniform. There were no harsh chemical scents or a sense of medical severity. Everything was soft. Warm colored panels lined the walls. Plants spilled over from recessed planters, engineered to thrive indoors. The lighting came from a soft glow at the edges of the floor and ceiling.

Efficient. Comfortable. Cold and distant. Not like the comforting and familiar buzz of an enclave bulb that threw yellowing light. A thing that had far exceeded its life expectancy. I stood just inside the doorway, unsure where to stand or sit.

“Please,” said the cheetah administrator, gesturing with a flick of his tail, “Sit.”

The chair he had gestured to was positioned opposite theirs, close to the center of the room. It was smaller than the others and clearly modified. Lower to the ground. Smaller back. Almost human-sized. Almost.

Someone had thought this through. That should be reassuring, but it made me feel cataloged. I crossed the space and sat, my shoes planting firmly on the floor for once. The chair fit me well enough, though the armrests were still too wide and long, forcing my elbows out at an angle. Even their accommodations were a reminder of the scale of the New World.

Dr. Vess folded her hands, tufted ears aimed forward in what I suspect was an expression meant to convey attentiveness. The dhole perched on the edge of his seat, seeming coiled tight. The cheetah leaned back and draped an arm over an armrest casually, his gaze sharp and appraising.

“This is your initial Human Integration Project assessment,” Dr. Vess began, “Nothing invasive. No surprises. The goal is to ensure your safety and compatibility with our University and the city at large.”

Compatibility.

“With what? I asked before my mind could stop my mouth.

Her ears twitched, an expression that she didn’t expect an interruption so early into her prepared speech, “With your assigned pack, academic workload, and the city’s infrastructure,” she answered with ease, “We aim to minimize your discomfort. To you, and others in the future.”

I nodded, “Right.”

The cheetah tapped a control embedded in the table, and a holographic interface bloomed to life, projecting data fields and scrolling text. My name hovered at the center, surrounded by categories waiting to be filled with information.

“Let’s start with basics,” he said, “Medical history. Any chronic conditions?”

I answered. Asthma as a child that resolved after air filters were fixed in my home. A broken wrist at fourteen. I experienced malnutrition, but it wasn’t severe enough to require special intervention. As I spoke, the dhole’s eyes tracked me, nostrils flaring as if scenting my words.

“Dietary requirements?” Dr. Vess asked.

“Omnivorous,” I said, “Higher carb intake that most anthros need, from what I’ve read.”

“Correct,” she smiled, “Solaris skews carnivore in diet, naturally. Accommodations can be made, however, as some species do eat each fruit and vegetable on occasion.”

That word again. Accommodations.

The questions continued, branching to other subjects. Sleep patterns. Stress response. Social preferences. My datapad chimed repeatedly as it cross-referenced my answers with my enclave records, education transcripts, and biometric scans taken during my initial HIP application months ago.

At some point, I realized it wasn’t just questions. They were mapping me.

“How do you respond to displays of dominance?” The cheetah asked, his tone clinical and detached.

I blinked, “I… what?”

“Raised voices. Physical proximity and posturing, snarls and growling,” he clarified, “There are common and accepted methods for communication among our species. Have you had exposure to it before?”

I thought of home. Of tempers flaring in tight spaces. From being overworked and perpetually just on the edge of hunger. Of the few anthro peacekeeping units towering over crowds during moments of unrest.

“I’ve experienced intimidation and being screamed at,” I answered with care, “I don’t respond well to threats, but I can adapt.”

The dhole clicked his tongue and made a soft sound somewhere between a chuckle and a growl, “He’s honest,” he said, “That’s a good start.”

The cheetah clicked his claws on the table, “Honest does not make him resilient.”

“No,” Dr. Vess added quietly, “But it’s a good point to build from.”

With little warning, the assessment shifted towards new topics. From psychological to physical. A side panel on the wall to my left slid open, revealing a compact medical scanner large enough for an anthro.

“Please step inside so that we can obtain your baseline vitals.” Dr. Vess said.

I stood despite my screaming heart and entered the standing scanner. The floor looked like glass, and the inside was cool to the touch. A panel slid halfway over the entrance, partially concealing me.

What I assumed were sensors extended, gentle and precise, as a cuff wrapped around my left arm, tightening for only a moment. A cool device touched my right temple. A temperature reading.

“Body temperature is lower than anthro averages,” the dhole observed, “Significantly.”

“I know… we’re not furnaces.”

The cheetah’s mouth twitched, revealing the glint of a fang. “Noted.”

A scanner passed over my torso. I watched data scroll past on a small screen inside the medical device. It was mapping bone density, muscle mass, nerve counts and locations, among other things, beyond my understanding. Numbers that reduced me from a person and into a metric that deviated from the norm.

“Height: five feet and eleven inches,” Dr. Vess read aloud, “Weight: One hundred fifty-five pounds.”

There was a pause. “Under ideal conditions, you would benefit from additional mass.”

“I’ve been told,” I said dryly.

This time, the dhole laughed out loud, “You’re going to hear it a lot.”

The panel slid back out of place, and I left the scanner, seating myself once more. Dr. Vess folded her paws on the table, “Now the most important part.”

The tables projected display shifted, moving from my personal data and into a series of profiles. Each expanded for a moment, then flew out of view, to be replaced by another.

“Pack assignment,” she said, “At Apex, we maintain mixed-species packs for residential and educational cohesion. We maintain packs throughout all levels of society. Humans enrolled in HIP are, by requirement, assigned to an existing pack based on metrics.”

“Existing?” I asked.

“Yes,” the cheetah answered first, “You will not be a forming member of a new pack. You are to be integrated into one. The agreements you signed stipulated this.”

His words sat heavily on my shoulders, “How much choice do I have?”

Dr. Vess rubbed the bridge of her muzzle, “Very little, but some.”

The dhole leaned forward, “You were determined to be most compatible for canid packs from your pre-assessment trials in your enclave,” he said, “They are socially flexible. Form strong group bonds, are exceedingly loyal and have lower incidents of territorial aggression vs felids and other predator species.”

The cheetah nodded, “They also typically exhibit heightened protective instincts towards members of the pack they perceive as the most vulnerable.”

Vulnerable. The formerly unspoken word that I knew would come sooner or later. My jaw tightened, but I said nothing. The display stopped scrolling through profiles until one expanded beyond the dimensions of all the previous ones.

‘Pack C-17’

Three images bled into view. All female. A gray wolf. Her posture radiated authority even through the still image. Kara, her name read. Alpha designated.

A coyote, lithe and with what looks to me a mischievous smile. Ryn.

A jackal, a tiny bit smaller than the other two but no less massive compared to me. Her ears were large. Sia.

“All predators,” I whispered.

“There is no other kind of anthro,” Dr. Vess answered.

I studied them, searching for… something. Kindness. Indifference. It was impossible to tell from their images.

“They’re all women,” I said.

“Yes,” the cheetah nodded, “Statistically speaking, all-female packs demonstrate a much higher degree of nurturing behavior and lower inter-pack aggression and posturing. Particularly towards smaller members.”

I curled my hands into fists. “And if I object to the assignment?”

Dr. Vess held my gaze, “Then we reconsider another pack. But, options are… limited. Solaris City has no other HIP candidates. No human-specific housing. Integration requires pack assignment; you will end up in one.”

I sighed, releasing the tense muscles bunched around my eyes, “Tell me about them.”

The dhole smiled, showing fangs, “They are all first years, like you. As you read in the brochure, the most common enrollment age is twenty-two, and our most common degree tracks are six-year programs. Kara is enrolled in the Leadership and Defense track. Strong pack-oriented instincts. Protective to the point of being stubborn.”

The cheetah cut in, “Ryn specializes in inter-species relations. She is highly adaptable and curious. She thrives when testing boundaries.”

My heart jumped at those words. She may be the one I need to watch out for, more so than the others.

“And Sia,” Dr. Vess added, “Is in Biology and Medicine. She’s attentive and detail-oriented. Prone to hyper-focus, in fact, according to metrics.”

I imagined them towering over me, their bodies radiating heat. I imagined their voices vibrating in my ears, their language intoned with growls and other canid mannerisms.

“When do I meet them?”

Dr. Vess glanced at the displayed time, “Today.”

My stomach flipped. A chime sounded behind us, at the door. It slid open to a uniformed GAC peacekeeper. His posture was professional, that of a soldier. “They’re waiting.”

Dr. Vess was the first to rise, but the others were quick as well. “We will escort you to the dormitory. First contact should be mediated.”

I stood as well. My legs feel unsteady. As we move towards the door, I cast one glance back. The room had taken something from me. Something I didn’t quite understand, yet. I felt lighter in a way that didn’t feel good.

Outside, the corridors felt tighter than before. We walked in silence as I did my best to keep pace. Somewhere in the distance, my new pack waited for me. Strangers that I’d spend the next six years with. Living space. Routines. Some classes. Everything.

My new family, by policy.

As we made our way through various corridors, an insistent and pestering thought kept pushing into the front of my mind. I left the enclave to be free. Now I wonder what kind of enclosure waits for me.

The residential wing sat deeper within the University’s structure, tucked away from the public-facing exterior and the lecture halls and stadiums. The architecture began to change as it kept going. The ceiling lowered, and corridors narrowed. Not a lot, but enough to notice. Stone gave way to composites and alloys. Toned panels that reflected lights in blurry, gentle hues.

“This area is restricted to residents and faculty,” Dr. Vess waved a paw, palm up, over the scene as we walked, “Pack dormitories are designed to encourage cohesion.”

Cohesion. Another word that keeps getting beaten into my mind. We passed doors marked with alphanumeric designations; each one was massive and sealed with what I thought were biometric locks. The air smells different, like cleaning supplies and metal. More… fur and lived in.

My escort slowed at the door marked ‘C-17.’

My stomach finally dropped. No longer just flips. The peacekeeper stepped forward and pushed his paw into the biolock reader. The door chimed and slid open. Cool air rolled out to meet me. Much cooler.

There was something else, too. Not unpleasant, but a layering of scents that made my head swim. Pine and earth. Dry, sun-baked stones. Something sharp and spicy threaded between it all. Alive and very personal.

I froze as every instinct screamed at me to back away. I didn’t. The dorm’s interior was marked by a high, arched ceiling and exposed beams crisscrossing like the ribs of a beast. The space was divided into zones rather than distinct rooms. A common area dominated the center, where an enormous sectional couch sank into a spherical recess.

Beyond it was a small hallway that led to what I could see were three doors. A bathroom, I know. The other two… two bedrooms, maybe? One for the alpha and the other for the two pack members. But where would I sleep?

Everything was scaled far beyond what I had lived in before. And in the middle of it all, they waited. The gray wolf rose first. She unfolded herself from the couch in a smooth, gliding motion. Her full height became more apparent when she stepped out of the pit. She was over eight feet tall. Her fur was mottled gray - darker along her shoulders. Lighter at her throat and stomach. Scars traced faint lines beneath a forearm and along one side. Old, well-healed, but still visible in the right light.

Her eyes bore into me. Amber. Sharp. Assessing. This was Kara, the alpha.

Beside her, the coyote perched on the back of the sectional, her digitigrade legs and paws dangling casually. She was more lean, her build lithe and athletic. Her fur was a mix of sandy brown and dull gold. Her ears constantly swiveled as she scented the air. Her gaze was bright and deep blue. Unabashed. Curious. She was Ryn.

The jackal reclined in a mountain of pillows, half-sitting and half-sprawled. She was the smallest, but still close to eight feet, and massive compared to a human. Her fur was a mix of tan and black. Her eyes were dark brown and expressive. Wide and searching. She tilted her head as she watched me, and her nostrils flared subtly. She was Sia.

None spoke. Yet. I stood there, a human, intruding in their space. I clutched my duffel bag as a shield. The silence was thick. Dr. Vess cleared her throat, an almost purr-like quality to it, “This is David Stone. He will be integrating with you as part of the Human Integration Project.”

Kara’s gaze never left my eyes.

“So,” she finally said, her voice low and steady, carrying a faint rumble that I felt more than heard, “You’re the Dawn Flower.”

That term. I nodded, slow but sure, “Yes. I am.”

Ryn’s grin widened until what I’d guess was nearly every fang showed, “He’s so much smaller than the footage we got made him look.”

Heat rushed to my face as my heart fluttered.

Sia nudged her shoulder, “Ryn.”

“What?” The coyote asked, “It’s not an insult. Just an observation.”

Kara stepped closer. Just one step. The distance between us closed then, abruptly. Her presence was overwhelming. She smelled faintly of warm pine and something iron-warm beneath it. She radiated heat like a furnace. She leaned down towards me, bringing her eyes level with mine.

I fought the surge to strike out or retreat. Instincts were a bitch, even for humans.

“Do you understand pack rules?” She asked, a slight tilt to her head.

“I… I understand some of it,” I answered, “I’m still learning.”

Her gaze shifted to Dr. Vess and then back to me, “You’ll learn fast by living them.”

Dr. Vess bowed her head, a slight dip, “We’ll leave you to adjust. Orientation begins tomorrow. Peacekeeper patrols and campus security are aware of the integration.”

I looked over at the soldier. He nodded once, then disappeared into the corridor. The faculty followed, disappearing behind the door as it slid shut with a finality that screamed out to me.

I stood alone among them. Ryn hopped down from the couch, her pads dampening the impact into a whisper-quiet thump. Her steps were light and near soundless, beyond the gentle click of her claws on the floor. Despite her size, she moved with a grace that cemented what she was. An apex predator.

She sniffed the air around my head, and then my shoulders and bag.

“Smells like rust, old plastic,” she said thoughtfully, “And fear.”

“I’m standing right here,” I murmured.

She laughs, a bright, yipping sound, “Good. You’re already talking back. I like that.”

Sia rose more carefully, stretching in a way that made her joints pop. She approached from the other side. Her movements were precise as well, but felt more… deliberate. Unlike Ryn, she didn’t crowd me. She stopped several feet away and studied my face.

“Are you cold?” She asked.

It caught me off guard. I shook my head, “I… uh. No. Not right now.”

She frowned slightly, “Your temperature is low.”

“That’s normal,” I said, “For humans.”

Her ears flicked, “We can adjust the climate settings if you need.”

Kara straightened, rising to her full height, “Later, if necessary. First, boundaries.”

She gestured towards the pit, “Put your things there, for now.”

I nodded, dropping my duffel near the sectional. I looked around, then down the hall, “I see three doors. I assume one is the bathroom. The other two are rooms? Where will I sleep?”

Ryn chuffs, but Kara answers, “One pack room. The second is a maintenance closet.”

I blinked, “I… I’m sorry?”

Ryn grinned, “Told you that would hang him up.”

“I thought,” I said carefully, trying to control my tone, “That there would be… a separate space. Or a bed that would fit me.”

Kara’s lips pulled back a hair. Not a snarl, but something close. My pulse spiked as she spoke, “The pack sleeps together. Always.”

“I’m not-” I stopped, and swallowed, “I’m not used to that.”

Sia stepped forward, her voice soft, “We know, but isolation is dangerous for you and unhealthy for all.”

“For me,” I echoed.

“Yes,” she said simply, “For you.”

The weight of their eyes pressed in on me. They weren’t being cruel. It was just the way things were for them. For all who lived in this society. A worldview where closeness was the same as safety. Separation was a risk.

“Follow,” Kara ordered.

I fell in behind her, and the others were behind me. She pushed the pack room door open, and an even colder waft of air hit me. I looked at the huge bed, recessed like the common room’s pit. Dozens of pillows, furs layered thick. The pillows were the size of my entire torso. It looked less like a bed and more like a den.

“I need a minute,” I said.

Kara looked down at me, studying. She nodded once, “You have it.”

I moved back towards my duffel bag, unzipping it with a trembling hand. The contents grounded me. My journal. The photo. Old, but decent clothes. Behind me, I felt rather than heard the pack moving, murmuring softly among themselves.

“He’s shaking,” Ryn said.

“He’s scared,” Sia confirmed.

“He’s human,” Kara said, as if that settled everything.

When I turned to face them, Kara gestured towards the sectional, “Sit. I won’t have you standing all night.”

I climbed onto the couch, awkwardly sitting on a massive cushion. My feet dangled from the floor, even in the pit. Ryn plopped down beside me, and I nearly sank into her as the cushions compensated for her weight.

“So,” she said, voice bright and airy, “You gonna bolt when we sleep?”

“No,” I answered, “Probably not.”

“Good,” she smiled, “I hate chasing.”

Despite the tension in my chest, a small laugh escaped me. As night settled, the dorm’s lights automatically dimmed. The city’s distant hum filtered in through a reinforced window, muted but present.

We sat in silence. I flipped through my journal several times, trying to find familiarity in an alien place.

“Time,” Kara said as she stood and stepped out of the pit.

My chest tightened, catching my breath. I hesitated only for a moment before sliding off the couch and following. The floor was cool beneath my now bare feet. Not uncomfortable, but noticeable.

I climbed onto the edge of the giant bed, careful and stiff in my movements, unsure of where to put myself. Their fur was soft. Softer than any blanket I’d ever had. Kara crawled in next, closer to the center. She lay on her side, looking over at me.

“Come,” she ordered. Not harsh, but final.

“I…”

“The smallest and most vulnerable of the pack sleeps in the middle. Protection. Cohesion.”

I bit down, pushing my teeth together, then nodded. I crawled towards the center and lay on my back, looking up at the ceiling. Then they settled around me. Kara lay to my left, her body a wall of heat. It was nice in the cool temperature. Ryn pressed in on my opposite side, one of her arms and paws draping loosely over my waist. Sia curled in front of me, her tail brushing against my legs.

The warmth was enveloping and complete. My heart raced as every nerve screamed at the proximity and touch. I could feel their breathing, the subtle shifts of dense muscle under soft fur. Their scents wrapped around me. Pine, spice, sun-warmed earth. It blended into something heady, but pleasant.

“Breathe,” Sia whispered.

I did. Slowly, reluctantly, my muscles began to release their tension. The fear didn’t vanish, but it softened, dulled by their warmth and soft contact and the undeniable fact that they weren’t letting go.

I stared at the ceiling, awake long after the pack’s breathing deepened into gentle and consistent patterns. This wasn’t the enclave. This wasn’t freedom in the way I had imagined it. But as sleep finally crept in, heavy and absolute, one thought lingered. Quiet. Resilient.

For the first time since leaving home, I wasn’t alone.

Chapter Two

I woke to warmth. More than just a blanket, with my heat still trapped inside, or the weak radiant heat generators standard in the Enclave that you had to huddle around during winter. It wasn’t thin or distant. It was close. Warm. Layered. It caressed my face in slow waves, smelling of pine and sun-baked dust, and something subtly sharp.

My mind refused to interpret what I knew I was surrounded by. I kept going back to the idea that it was just a dream. That I’m still in my trailer, merely imagining the time had finally arrived. I opened my eyes, slow enough to allow the creeping light of dawn to shift my mind from reluctance to sudden acceptance of where I found myself as I processed what I was seeing.

Fear. Hope. And beneath them both, panic. Get up, get out, run. My mind screamed, but my body remained still.

I lay on my back in the center of the den-bed. The ceiling above dimmed as the sunlight entered, its automatic lighting adjusting so that the cool blue of its LEDs clashed with the warm orange of the invading day. The air was cool, almost crisp. The areas of my body that were exposed, what little there was, tingled with goosebumps.

To my left lay Kara. She was on her side, facing me. I followed her shoulder down, and her arm draped over my ribs. Not heavy enough to crush, but heavy enough to remind me that she could if she wanted to. I could feel the subtle, dense twinges of muscle beneath her warm fur.

To my right was Ryn, who had threaded a large paw beneath the hem of my shirt. I could feel the dense but soft pads of her palm and fingers. Her claws rested against my skin, not piercing, but present. She was curled in on herself but pressed close to my side. Every so often, her ears would twitch, as if she could hear my thoughts.

Sia was above our heads, curled in a way that reminded me of a cat trying to curl into its owner. Her long tail had draped down towards us and had wrapped over the front of my neck. A warm and living scarf that moved with every subtle shift of her body, a soft brush that made my nerves fire with each breath.

I didn’t want to panic or bolt, so I did what I used to do at the Enclave. I’d listen to what was outside. The sound was muffled, and I strained to differentiate things, but beneath it all I could hear distant traffic, ventilation systems, and the thump of something heavy. Solaris City was more like the Enclave than I had first realized—it never slept.

I kept my eyes on the empty canvas of the ceiling, waiting for something to happen. I thought of my first class today. No time to acclimate. Sink or swim. Maybe I can wait for one of them to wake up? For my body to react with fear. It didn’t come. Not like it had on the shuttle. Not like when Dr. Vess and the others questioned, scanned, and catalogued me like an over-eager biological student observing microbial life beneath a microscope.

It just felt like… weight. Not in the physical sense, though the arm, paw, and tail draped over my body did feel heavy. It was something more. Not quite emotional. Not quite spiritual. But a strange heaviness of being… kept. I don’t feel I’ve earned being included in something. Everything in my mind screamed to hate it, to regret stepping into this pack—my packs—den-bed.

I’d spent my whole life keeping to myself. Nosy people in Enclaves usually ended up beaten, or worse. Human curiosity was like currency, and a life could be bought or stolen with it. Privacy was the only thing you could truly own without risk of another taking it. People wanted food. They wanted batteries. Clean water, blankets that weren’t so thin they were like sheets. They wanted cheap drugs that made the flicker of halogen bulbs look like supernovae.

Nobody cared about or wanted your peace.

Here, it was reversed. Quiet was suspicious. Quiet was lonely. Quiet was… dangerous. Kara had said it to me as if it were a fact, not philosophy. ‘The Pack sleeps together. Always.’

I swallowed, hoping the movement wouldn’t wake Sia.

My journal was somewhere on the couch in the common room, abandoned without ceremony when “time” was spoken as a command. The part of me that needed to write or sketch, that needed to make sense of things with ink and paper, twitched beneath my skin as surely as my heartbeat.

I shifted. Fractionally. Careful.

Ryn’s paw tightened on my stomach, claws drawing raised lines. It didn’t hurt much, but it did make my pulse jump. I watched her, but she didn’t wake up. It was a reflex; possession, even in sleep. Kara’s ears flicked in my peripheral vision, but her breathing remained steady. Sia murmured something in her sleep, a soft sound that could have been language, growl, or something else entirely.

I exhaled, remembering what Sia had told me last night. Breathe. Just. Breathe. I’m not sure how long I’ve been awake, but I watched as the ceiling lighting shifted from cool blue to pale gold, trying to assist the path of the sun’s radiant glow, consuming the room.

Kara moved first. She rolled onto her back and stretched. The den-bed cried faintly beneath her weight. She yawned, her muzzle opening wide enough that lessons from the Enclave screamed into my mind. Math. Teeth and bite force. How quickly I needed to move away to preserve the integrity of my flesh and bone.

Her amber eyes found my own, and I felt the same pressure as last night. That assessing focus. Not unfriendly, but not soft, either.

“You didn’t sleep,” she rumbled.

It wasn’t a question.

“I… did.” I lied, despite knowing that humans were made to lie and wolves were made to smell it.

Ryn’s ears lifted, perking at my voice. One eye cracked open, “He smells awake,” she said, her voice rough with an edge of lingering sleep.

Heat crawled up my neck, “I uh… thanks?”

Her grin flashed fangs, “Welcome.”

Sia rolled over, her tail releasing my neck. She sat up, towering over me, looking down at my face, head cocking to the side, “Your pupils are still dilated,” she frowned, “adrenaline. Stress.”

“Or,” Ryn said, stretching her legs, “he’s just excited to wake up to us.”

Sia sighed, “Ryn…”

Her warning sounded more tired than sharp.

Kara sat up, and as she did, the space felt smaller. She put her paws on the fur pile around us and leaned over me, looking over my form as if I were a piece of equipment she was inspecting for damage. Damage she intended to fix.

“First day, little one,” she said, “we do it right.”

My stomach fell. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” she answered, “you listen. You follow. You don’t wander. We will protect you.”

Ryn snorted, “Throwing him to the wolves already, huh?”

“We need to take him to the market.”

“The market?” I asked.

“Campus store,” Sia interjected, “Food hall. Administration. We need supplies.”

Ryn’s paw finally left my skin, but then slid towards my shoulder, anchoring me casually, “He needs supplies,” she said, her grin widening in a way that only she had seemed capable of so far, “We get to be the helpful, fluffy giants who guide him.”

I pushed myself up. My body, damned traitor that it was, felt oddly relaxed. Better than it had been in weeks. Since my dreams of being alone in this city started. Their warmth permeated my entire being, and despite lingering fear, I didn’t shake. Not like I had the day before.

Kara was the first to leave the den-bed, her paws thumping softly on the floor. She looked around as if scanning for threats, then her gaze fell back on me.

“Up,” she ordered.

I rose. This was how my day was starting. No negotiation. No debate. No self-determination. Just the alpha saying to get up, and my body obeying without thought because my nerves couldn’t decide if reluctance or resistance would lead to danger, correction, or a more gentle approach.

Ryn slid out after me, graceful, followed by Sia, who was more methodical in all she seemed to do, even her pawsteps. The first two thumped to the floor, their weight enormous, and the pads of their paws making no effort to convince me otherwise, but Sia’s paws touched the floor in whisper-quiet despite her being just as large.

I looked down when cold surged up through the soles of my feet as they left the den-bed last. The lack of their radiating warmth, or the heat trapped by the furs, made me realize just how cold they kept this dorm. The air bit at my skin. I felt like a child being forced awake for school, except that my school was a fortress and my classmates could carry me under one arm if I got on their nerves.

“Cold?” Sia asked.

“No,” I said, my teeth clicking together, betraying me.

Her eyes narrowed, “Yes.”

Ryn leaned in, pressing her nose to the edge of my throat. I flinched despite trying to force my body to remain still. She sniffed, slow, deliberate. It was intimate in a way I wasn’t ready for. Her exhale washed over my skin.

“You’re cold,” she said, then looked up at Kara with coy eyes and a slight smile.

Kara’s ears flicked, “We can adjust the climate later. First, routine.”

Routine. The word made me feel conflicted. Routine back home meant survival. Wake, check the locks, check the water filter, check your solar battery system if you were one of the few with them. Here, it sounded like something you could plan. Something you could expect to be the same, day in and day out.

“Bathroom,” Kara gestured to the hallway.

I followed, of course.

The hallway was short but broad enough that two of these “fluffy giants” could stand shoulder to shoulder comfortably. Kara touched a panel on the wall, and the bathroom door slid open. It caught me off guard, despite having seen other doors do this since my arrival. It just didn’t feel normal. Like even the doors were taking agency from you.

The bathroom’s interior made my mind stall. It was huge. Not in the way a room made sense as being huge, like the common room, where scale made sense. This was supposed to be an intimate space, meant for privacy, but it looked as if it could house all three of them at once and leave plenty of room for comfort.

The sink counter came up to my ribs. The mirror started at chest height and went far above my head. I had a nice view of my collarbones and head. That was it. The shower was a walk-in, lined with recessed nozzles and what I assumed were air dryers. It looked like it was designed for a pack to wash together.

Heat rushed to my face at the thought. I kept a neutral expression, or at least I think it was, but Ryn’s face popped into my view, a smile as wide as a mile, eyes glittering, “He’s thinking about the shower,” she yipped.

“I…” all three studied my face, “I’m thinking about how I’m going to reach the soap.”

Sia’s muzzle twitched, and, despite not having much experience reading canid facial expressions, it is evident to me that she was fighting a smile. “We can think of something.”

Kara’s eyes moved around the space. I watched as her gaze fell to the height of the sink relative to my body, then the mirror, where our eyes locked. She moved on, looking at the shower. “We can make accommodations. We fix it together.”

Shame surged into my chest. At my height. At not knowing their customs. At making them somehow think I needed special attention, “You don’t need to do that.”

Kara’s eyes returned to my own, “Yes. We do.”

That was it. No explanation. No room for argument. No speech about empathy or pitying a Dawn Flower. A simple answer to what she considered a simple problem. My chest tightened, warring between shame and gratitude.

Ryn leaned on the sink, looking down at me with a grin that made it clear she was enjoying figuring me out, as if I were a puzzle. “Pack takes care of pack,” she said, her voice soft. “It’s normal.”

Normal. I don’t know what that is. The Enclave didn’t do normal. Every day was different. Every earned meal or job shift was a battle of wits and body. Of those who were most willing to break themselves for the right to earn one of those things. Things were transactional. Everything. Even among families. They had to be. There were no spares. Some nights, a parent had to choose which kid to feed. The one who showed more promise with work, or the one struggling to keep up because their body was frail.

If someone took care of you, it was simply expected, without words, that you would repay them. A favor. Important information. A battery. A promise. Here, they might expect payment too, but not material or money. My gut twists, and I feel that my presence and obedience are what I need to pay them back with. Am I wrong, I muse? Is my human mind trying to frame an alien society to the standards it grew up with?

I’m not sure which thought or reality is easier.

Kara nodded towards the toilet, which, of course, was like everything else, scaled way beyond human standards, “Use first if you need. We will wait.”

I blinked. My jaw dropped, “Wait… in here?”

Ryn’s ears perked up. “You want us to leave?”

“Yes,” I said without hesitation, but regretted the edge of my tone, “I’m just… I’m used to privacy.”

Sia’s gaze softened, her eyes searching the scene, “We understand.”

Kara rumbled, her lips pulled back a hair, not a snarl, but apparent displeasure, “Privacy is dangerous among packs.”

“For you,” I said, remembering Sia’s words from last night.

Kara’s eyes narrowed, “For all.”

Ryn laughed, “He’s learning. He’s even learning the script.”

“I don’t want to be a script,” I snapped. My heart raced, and I tried to swallow my regret at the volume of my voice.

They fell silent. Kara watched me for a long, heavy beat and nodded once, “We wait outside, but the door stays unlocked.”

“Thank you,” I said, my voice smaller than I wanted.

Ryn continued to watch me as Kara and Sia stepped out. She stepped back, pausing at the doorway, looking over her shoulder, “If you fall in, we’ll hear it.”

“I’m not going to fall into the toilet,” I shook my head.

Her muzzle broke into a wide grin, “You might.”

Sia nudged her, “Leave it.”

“I didn’t say that I want him to fall in!” She protested as their pawsteps faded down the hall.

I sighed and looked at the mirror, standing on my toes. I looked tired. Not the same kind of tired present on every face at my Enclave; not the hollow exhaustion of having missed an entire day of meals or the fear of others taking what little you did have, but something different.

The kind of fatigue that came from heavy expectations. From having so much change in such a little time. I eyed the faucet. No knobs. No individual temperature controls. I waved my hand near it. Nothing happened. I tapped it a few times, then reached under it. Water shot out, warm, immediate, and without a sputter of rust-stained water. That’s going to take getting used to.

I splashed my face with water, combed my hair with my fingers, trying to straighten out the few cowlicks I had, and then relieved myself. I stepped out, and Kara’s eyes fell on my face instantly. Ryn’s nose twitched, her nostrils flaring slightly. Sia’s ears honed in on me.

“Better?” Sia asked.

“A little.”

Kara nodded, “First classes. Then food.”

My stomach growled at the mention of food. Ryn smiled, but as her gaze looked over my too-thin form, it fell in realization of the hungry nights I knew all too well.

Sia waved a paw at me, “Join us.”

I entered the common room and noticed my duffel bag was still where I had dropped it. Small, but containing most of my life. My journal lay beside it, still closed. I reached for it, but stopped short. Writing in front of them felt too intimate, laying my truth as bare as undressing would leave me.

Ryn noticed. Of course. Always so observant. “That’s your scratch book.”

“Journal,” I corrected.

“Scratch journal,” she smiled, then hopped onto the couch with silent grace, “what do you write in it?”

“Stuff.”

“Stuff,” she echoed. She looked delighted as she leaned closer to me, “Are our names in it yet?”

“No.”

“Maybe how beautiful I am?”

I stared at her. She was beautiful. They all were in a way that made me feel odd. I’d seen anthros from a distance before, and my boss, but they were either males or too far to get a good look. I’d never even really pursued my own before, at least not really.

I swallowed, fighting my eyes as they traveled her form. Her fur still had an unkempt look from sleep, but the colors and texture were appealing. Her ears were large and fuzzy, her eyes mischievous, but in a way that screamed playfulness, and her muzzle was always curved in a smile. Her fangs were whiter than my own teeth, and I had always strived to take good care of them.

Her form was curvy in all the right places. Breasts that were just right—not too large or small. Hips that she could sway with eye-catching steps. Long beautiful legs. Even her bare digitigrade paws were cute. What an odd thing to think of, I mused. Her claws still bothered me, all of theirs did, but they didn’t look wrong. They accentuated her form well, giving her beauty a feral edge.

Sia cleared her throat, “Ryn.”

Ryn’s grin only seemed to grow, “It’s important to know.”

Kara was already moving to the door, “Later. Classes first. Food. Then campus stores.”

I noticed for the first time that they had all dressed while I was in the bathroom. I looked over my sleepwear. A simple t-shirt and sweatpants. “I should change.”

Kara turned back towards me. “You’re covered.”

“That’s not… never mind,” I rubbed the side of my neck, “humans dress more than this when going out. Usually. Plus, I need to put on socks and shoes.”

Sia nodded, “You can use the bathroom to change.”

Ryn’s ears perked. “We can help.”

“No.”

Ryn laughed, a bright yip that bounced in the dorm, “I’m joking. Mostly.”

I grabbed my bag and fled to the bathroom to change. Dark jeans. A clean shirt. Shoes, because the idea of walking barefoot like all anthros did, in a world built for claws and paws, felt like asking to have my feet stepped on and clawed or crushed by accident.

When I returned, Kara was waiting by the door with a bag over her shoulder. It was large enough that I felt I could fit inside of it if she folded me in half. I swallowed, knowing she could.

Ryn and Sia stood next to her. The sight of them standing shoulder to shoulder, all watching me, made my heart flutter. They looked like a unit. A wall. A pack. My pack.

Kara opened the door with a wave of a paw. The air that rushed in smelled different. Cleaner. Sharper. Like disinfectant.

“Stay close, little one,” Kara ordered.

I stepped out behind them as the door closed with a soft hiss. The first day of my new life, the first actual day, began with the echo of their claws on a polished floor.

The outside world, still within the university’s confines, had its own life and climate. Not temperature or wind. It was a pressure system of bodies that radiated heat and soft animal musk. Not overpowering or unpleasant. Just… present. Always there. The corridors were already filled as we moved, students flowing like water over smooth stone, each a towering predator with their own rhythm.

Bare paws padded and claws clicked against the floor. Fur brushed against fur as they passed each other. Voices rumbled, low and layered in tones that made the air feel vibrant—like when the current of electricity flows near—you can simply feel it.

I tried to make myself smaller than I already was. It was impossible. I was already a tiny anomaly to them, and the more I tried to hide, the more obvious I felt it became that I was an outsider.

Heads turned. Ears tracked. Conversations quieted. Not dramatic. Not like a movie we were lucky to watch for the thirtieth time in the Enclave because it was all we had. It was subtle. A flick here, a tail lashing there, a muzzle lifting to scent the air. Eyes—some curious, some sharp, others searching my form for answers to questions I’d never heard.

“A Dawn Flower,” someone murmured from somewhere above me, laced with amusement.

My chest tightened, and a tingle ran up my spine. Kara shifted her path without a word, angling her shoulder as if trying to shield me from wind. Ryn closed on my other side, close enough that her hip kept brushing my arm. Sia took position behind me, her presence a quiet pressure at my back.

We rounded a corner into a wider corridor with floor-to-ceiling spanning windows that looked out over Solaris City. Sunlight flooded in, making motes of dust and the occasional strand of shed fur glint in the air. Outside, the city rose in layers of steel, glass, and bridges, all with growing ecologies jutting from carefully constructed skyparks and terraces.

I should have felt awe. I did, in a distant way. But mostly, I was trying not to imagine how high up I actually was and how long it would take to hit the lowest level of ground if I tripped and fell.

The difference in stride is what occupied most of my mind, though. It was brutal. Their walking speed was a loping pace, so I had to speed-walk to keep up, occasionally jogging in short bursts to not fall behind or have Sia run into me from behind.

Ryn noticed. Of course. She glanced down at my feet, then my face, “You’re going to overheat with this much effort.”

I huffed, fighting to keep my breathing steady, “I’m fine.”

“You’re turning red.”

“I’m human,” I snapped, then softened with a sigh, “we do that.”

One of Sia’s paws found my shoulder, “Your heart rate is elevated.”

“No kidding,” I muttered.

Kara slowed. Not much. Just enough that the clench of muscles in my sides stopped, and my lungs no longer felt like they were being squeezed. She didn’t comment. I was grateful for that. Then she reached for the strap of her bag, pulled it loose, and held it out to me. “Hold.”

I stared at the strap, her paw, and the claws. Understanding clicked in my mind, and I hated that it did. It wasn’t a leash. Not technically, at least. But it was a tether. A statement.

Ryn flashed me a grin, “Lifeline.”

“It’s no-”

“It is,” Kara said. Calm but resolute.

I sighed and grabbed the strap. The moment I wrapped my fingers around it, Kara’s posture changed. Her shoulders squared, and her head and tail lifted. The message was silent. But it was loud. It screamed in my mind.

Mine.

The eyes around us that watched, shifted. Some looked away. Some watched with new expressions. Respect. Irritation. Or maybe something in between. I’m not sure. A leopard with pale spots paused, his nostrils flaring, then gave Kara a slight nod. A hyena, dark-furred, stared too long, teeth showing in something that screamed threat to me. Not a snarl, but not a smile. When Kara’s gaze met his, his ears flattened, and he looked away with a chuff.

My stomach was turning over. The strap pulled gently as she walked, but it was easier to match her pace now. The tension guided me. If I stumbled, she’d know. If the crowd pressed in, she’d know. If I fell behind, she’d know. I hated feeling relief at that.

We passed a wall of campus announcements. The holographic displays flash between different things. Orientation schedules. Pack registration. Meal hall hours. A notice about ‘HIP Student Accommodations,’ and another on ‘proper etiquette when dealing with Dawn Flowers.’

My name wasn’t attached, but it may as well have been. “I’m a bulletin,” I whispered.

“You’re a novelty,” Ryn corrected, leaning closer to me, “and our responsibility.”

Sia’s voice was soft, “And a person.”

I looked at her. Her eyes were earnest. Wide. Dark. I couldn’t see any teasing.

Kara’s ears flicked, her tail doing the same, “Not just a person. Our packmate,” she said, “focus. Class will begin in minutes.”

I blinked, “Already?”

“Time moves,” Kara replied, her gaze softening as she looked me over, “I didn’t take into account how different our pace would be, but I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. It won’t happen again.”

We resumed walking and entered the first lecture hall. It was shaped like an amphitheater, seats curving around a central, recessed floor. The entrance doors were massive, like all the others. Other students flowed in, forcing me to dodge tails and swinging paws despite my pack’s attempt to protect me from the oblivious limbs.

The ceiling was high, the walls covered in what I assumed were soundproofing panels. The seating tiers were built like benches, wide and deep enough that an anthro could sit cross-legged with room to spare. For me, it was like climbing boulders.

Kara led us to a row near the middle, then motioned to me to sit. The bench was at my hips. I hopped onto it, conscious of my dangling feet. Ryn sat to my right, sprawling her long legs out, casually invading the space behind the row in front of us. Sia sat to my left, with a more formal posture. Kara took the spot behind me, one level up. Her knees were just short of touching my shoulders.

Being above me allowed her to observe better. Me. The room. The others. More control. At least, that’s what my mind screamed at me. Enclave lessons hammered into us that anthros valued control. Control of themselves, of others, and their environments. She was an alpha. My alpha, I corrected.

The professor entered, stepping onto the stage. A cougar, sleek, lithe, golden. Her fur was short and well-groomed. She moved with confidence, and the room fell silent without her having to ask. Her voice, when she spoke, carried a low growl interlaced with each word. I could almost feel it in my chest.

“Welcome to Foundations of GAC Governance,” she said, eyes sweeping over the crowd. “You are here because you have chosen to help shape the future of our coalition of governments.”

Her gaze paused on me for a second. A ripple ran through the room. Not movement, not really. But attention. Like when you notice something out of place. Her mouth twitched, “I’m sure you’ve all heard,” she said, “we have a Dawn Flower this year.”

I sank, trying to hide in Ryn and Sia’s fur without touching them. One of Kara’s paws laced over the back of my neck, and she squeezed once, not hard, before releasing.

“The Human Integration Project,” she continued, her cadence deliberate and one of someone speaking policy, not opinion. “You’ve all been briefed by your orientation packets. You will treat HIP students as students, not a curiosity or novelty. You will focus on your work, and you will respect your packs.”

The room rumbled, growls and chuffs that sounded like thunder being smothered beneath a blanket. Ryn leaned close, whispering, “She’s trying.”

“She’s doing better than my high school principal, that guy was a bastard,” I muttered. Ryn’s shoulders shook with mirth.

The lecture began. It was… dense. Unlike anything the Enclave taught me. Full of acronyms and historical references that actually used primary sources. It wasn’t just conjecture, at least, I didn’t think it was. The Dawn Flower War. The formation of the GAC. The legal structure of packs as civic units and their existence at all levels of society. Housing, education, work, politics, and even discipline were designed with packs in mind. She described it as an extended family unit, a second pack relative to your direct familial pack.

I wrote in my notebook, trying to keep pace with things that I’m sure most of those around me already knew much of. I already knew some things, but it was all skewed by human perspective.

Kara’s presence was steady, but I’d hear her breath shift as she listened. Ryn wrote in a way that seemed she already knew all that was being said. She barely looked at her notebook, her ears tuned to the other students’ noises rather than the professor’s. Sia’s notebook was… methodical and elegant. Headers, bullet points, footnotes. Precise lines of writing.

Maybe forty-five minutes in, the professor stopped her lecture, “Why were Enclaves created?”

Several paws rose. A bear’s paw—huge, a wolf’s, a leopard’s, and more. The professor’s gaze fell on me, “Mr. Stone.”

Every nerve screamed. Run. Hide. Fight. Do something.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, “To prevent extinction,” I said, voice too loud in a space that had fallen silent, “Humans were… we are physically fragile compared to you. After the war, after the collapse, our population couldn’t sustain itself spread over the world in small pockets. The population needed to be consolidated into manageable zones to staunch the bleeding.”

She nodded, “And?”

“And,” I continued, forcing my brain to focus on her question instead of the hundreds of eyes, “because the world is designed for you now. For anthros. Infrastructure, economy, even culture. Enclaves were meant for more than just keeping humanity alive. They were also meant to protect our independence, our agency.”

A murmur passed through the students. Not disagreement, at least not that I could tell. It was interest. Like I’d offered a scent of something new. Something they’d never noticed before. A human perspective. The Dawn Flowers answer.

The professor nodded, “An honest answer, but one that is often disputed. Many now argue that the complete integration of humanity was the ultimate goal from the start.”

I shook my head, a surge of courage coursing into my chest, maybe even a hint of pride, “That’s not true. The Enclaves were created to keep us alive because anthros had pushed too far and nearly wiped us out. It wasn’t to train us or acclimate us to the idea of being integrated without choice. If it were, anthros would have been present in all elements of Enclave life. Not just aid convoys, a few liaisons, or peacekeepers.”

Another wave of murmurs passed, followed by whispers I couldn’t understand as too many overlapped. The professor smiled, “Good,” she said, “spoken earnestly and plainly. That is your job in our society. Not to bring comfort, but to be honest and make us ask questions.”

Kara’s paw landed on my shoulder. Not heavy. Just there. She squeezed, a rumble from her followed, soft. Brief.

My throat tightened, and the lecture moved on. When it ended, the room exploded into movement and sound. Students rose, stretching, talking, laughing. Ryn hopped from the bench and leaned towards me, “You didn’t freeze,” she said, as if she had bet someone on it.

“I almost did,” I muttered.

“Doesn’t count,” she replied.

Sia gathered her notes, eyes watching me, “Your voice held. That matters.”

Kara joined us on our level. As she stepped beside me, she glanced at my notebook, “You wrote a lot,” she said.

“I… yeah. I’m a student.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. I braced for correction.

Instead, she smiled. Small, but real, “You did well.”

The words landed hard. I felt my face catch fire beneath the skin, and my heart fluttered for a moment. She motioned for us to follow her, leading us out of the lecture hall. We moved from one building to another. My schedule was a spattering of required first-year courses and conservation track lectures. Our schedules differed in places, but pack policies meant our classes overlapped several times. More than I expected for such different fields of study.

Some lectures were marked as ‘Pack Core,’ which were designed to be taken together. In every hallway, eyes and ears tracked us. In every door, I was the smallest object passing through. Sometimes other students stepped aside, giving me space and offering a slight nod or respectful glance. Still, sometimes they didn’t even notice me. I liked that, despite the risk of being trampled.

At some point, a panther’s long tail swung towards my face as they turned. I stumbled, bracing for a stinging impact, barely catching myself with Sia’s stabilizing paws. I thanked her and grabbed Kara’s strap again. She didn’t pause or decrease speed, but she kept that steady pace I could keep with, guiding me.

I hate that my body is already learning to accept it. Move aside, or get stepped on. Dodge a tail, maybe an elbow, or risk a bloody lip or nose. By mid-morning, my legs burned. Sweat dampened the back and front of my shirt. I panted, my throat so dry it was sore.

Ryn noticed again. She always did.

“We’re getting water,” she announced.

Kara’s ears flicked toward us, “Food after the next lecture.”

“Now,” Ryn insisted, then softened her voice, looking at Kara with an expression I interpreted as pleading, “He’s going to drop if we keep pushing him this hard.”

Sia nodded, “He’s overheating.”

I tried to protest, but Kara stopped me with her eyes, “You will drink,” she said, leaving no room for argument. The decision was made.

We entered a common room accessible to all students. A space to rest or study. Water stations were built into the walls at varying heights, all beyond my comfort zone. Kara stopped at a cabinet, grabbed a cup half the size of my forearm, filled it with water, and held it out for me.

I took it with both hands, enjoying the cool sensation on my palms. Ryn watched me drink, my eyes meeting hers over the rim of the cup. Her expression looked too coy for something as simple as making sure I was hydrated. When I lowered the cup, half empty, she leaned in and sniffed my temple, then nodded.

“Good flower,” she said.

“I am not a-” I stopped myself. I knew if I fought this new nickname, it would stick.

Sia’s tail swished several times. “You’re adapting.”

“I’m surviving. Barely.” I said. Adapting and surviving felt the same to me.

Kara’s gaze locked on my eyes, “Here,” she said, “with us, you can do much more than that. We can help you thrive.”

Her words were simple, but the meaning behind them wasn’t. I broke eye contact first and sighed. We had one more class before the food hall. My stomach rumbled, making me cringe.

Sia frowned, “Next time, we get up early enough to ensure you eat before we leave.”

I nodded, grateful. Sia continued, “Intro to Restoration Ecology,” reading from a pack schedule that listed each member’s classes, “That’s you.”

“That’s me,” I answered.

Kara added, “Pack Core class.”

Sia’s paw rested on my upper arm. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah. I’m ready to go.”

Kara stopped at the exit of the common room. “Let’s move.”

Ryn followed her out, looking over her shoulder at me as she went, her tail waving in gentle motion. Sia held a paw out for me, “To help keep pace, if you want.”

I looked at the huge paw. Black pads. Soft, short fur. Long, curved, black claws. I tried to stop the involuntary shudder, but failed. Her gaze fell on her own claws, and she frowned, “They bother you, don’t they?”

I shook my head, “Just getting used to it. That’s all.”

Her shoulders fell subtly, but enough that I noticed. As her paw began to pull away, I reached out. My hand darted into her own. It was warm, almost sweltering. The pads were supple but had a slightly rough texture. Her tail shot out, and she went rigid before closing her paw over my hand.

She led me to the next class, following Kara and Ryn into the lecture hall. It was smaller than the first. More bright. Wall screens showed aerial images of forests, rivers, and meadows. The professor was a raven. Her feathers were glossy black, almost blue or purple when the light hit her right. Her eyes looked sharp as glass, intelligent and assessing. She was perched on a raised platform designed for paws, not talons, but she looked comfortable.

When she spoke, her voice was resonant, with a subtle undercurrent of authority, “Human,” she said. However, it didn’t sound unkind: “You’re a few minutes early.”

I looked around, noticing that most of the seats were filled. Eyes tracking me, ears flicking. A few muzzles lifted to scent the air. A lynx in the front row whispered something to the jaguar sitting next to him, glancing at Kara as if judging how close she’d allow them to get to me.

The raven professor tapped a claw on the lectern as we seated ourselves near the right side of the room, “If you came here for entertainment,” she said, eyes sweeping the entire room, “you can leave now. Our goal is to rebuild what the war destroyed. That is not a joke or to be taken lightly.”

The room fell silent. Every eye or ear that was on me now flicked to her. Relief hit me, but so did discomfort. Being defended was reassuring. Being defended because I merely existed was… exhausting. The professor started with the basics. Biomes. Soil sterilization. Mass lead poisoning from old battlefields. Reintroduction protocols for flora and feral fauna.

The world still carried the scars ninety years later. She asked us to open our course tablets. My stomach dipped. I’d been issued a device by the HIP program, but it had been designed for paws. The screen was giant, and the casing thick. It felt like holding a textbook rather than a slim device.

I pulled it out of my bag and set it on the bench. I struggled to find a grip that felt natural, and in my struggle, it fell from my grasp. Kara’s paw caught it mid-fall. She steadied it and held it out for me, a slight smile on her muzzle.

I stared at her claws for a beat, then breathed and grabbed it. Ryn leaned in, “You’re going to need a smaller one,” she whispered.

“I’m going to need a smaller everything,” I quipped.

Her grin flashed fangs, “Not everything.”

Sia gave a quiet warning sound, and Ryn’s ears flicked in what I assume was her typical innocent denial. The professor’s gaze swept over us, and she saw Kara’s paw still near my tablet, as if waiting for me to drop it again. She paused.

“Kara. Alpha of your pack.”

Kara perked up, “Yes?”

“Your HIP students’ device is not scaled for his size. Submit a request. The department has smaller devices for specialty cases.”

Specialty case. The words were meant to be neutral, but they felt like a slap. Or a bureaucratic stamp. Kara nodded, “We will.”

The professor nodded and moved on. By the time the lecture ended, my mind was filled with maps and satellite photography. Rivers, forests, and deadlands marked with ancient craters. Battles forgotten by those who lived now, but not the land itself. When we stood, I swayed, becoming lightheaded. Hunger lashed at my mind and stomach.

Ryn caught my elbow and steadied me. Her paw was warm and soft, like Sia’s, but also firm and careful, “You need to eat,” she said, voice gentle, “now.”

Kara looked over me and frowned. Not a frown of disappointment or as if I had done something wrong. It was different, like she’d just realized I was in fact smaller, slower, and weaker. She took the lead. We moved toward the cafeteria. The building was visible from the long corridors before we reached it. The entrance was framed by arches, and the smell of food poured out and lured me like a starving animal. Malnourishment, as Dr. Vess had pointed out yesterday, drove me forward despite feeling a bit lightheaded from hunger and fatigue from walking many miles across the massive campus.

Meat. Spices. Bread. Something sweet and spicy beneath. It called my name. My stomach growled, loud enough that I knew they all heard.

Ryn’s ears flattened; the typical glitter in her eyes wasn’t present as I looked up at her. “We’re going to feed you until you pop.”

Sia’s eyes softened, “I’m sorry you’ve known hunger.”

Kara’s voice was steady, but I could hear something beneath it that wasn’t usually there, “Food is strength. We will make you strong.”

The cafeteria wasn’t a room. It was a cathedral. Made to feed eight-foot-tall predators, and hundreds of them at once. The ceilings arched high, ribbed with beams that almost reminded me of human architecture. Less grace and more industrial. Only the ribs were polished and opened to panels that allowed natural light in. The air was thick with the scent and subtle musk of hundreds of furred bodies. Rain, forest, wood, meadow, pine, spice, and much more. Over it all, though, was the heavy scent of roasted meats and rendered fat. Spices so thick they could make my eyes sting if I weren’t so consumed with hunger.

The sound was more overwhelming.

Hundreds of voices. All deep, all resonant, and all laced with animalistic qualities. Growls, purrs, chuffs, yips, barks… paws thumped, chairs scraped, claws clicked. Laughter was barking and loud, sharp enough to make me flinch.

I felt as if the entire room would swallow me. My heart hammered against my ribs. My legs stopped without thought. I was entering a den of hungry predators. Every lesson from the Enclave screamed at me. Hunger for human blood. If not our blood, then our agency. They wanted to control. To dominate. To own.

But was that true, I wondered? Or was it just more of those doubts that all humans must have? Or am I just an anomaly among my own, like I am among these anthros? Hunger won out, as did the concerned gazes of my pack.

“I’m okay, just… taking it in.”

Kara’s tail brushed my side, “We will keep you safe, now come, you need to eat.”

She moved forward like the noise and scent were just another thing for her to dominate. Ryn’s ears swiveled, tracking everything around us. Sia’s gaze flicked over the crowd, watching reactions and movements, as if she expected trouble.

I tried to do the same. Look brave. Observe the area. Listen and identify individual things. But my mind kept falling back on the scale. The serving counters were almost shoulder height. The food trays were the size of my torso. The tables were massive slabs of steel and had long benches built for predator scale. I felt more like a child now, lost among giants, than ever before.

One of Kara’s paws pressed into the small of my back, “Line,” she said, and nudged me towards the closest serving station.

I followed her, no longer holding onto her strap, but the beginning of a habit was already forming to stay close. The line moved… fast. Students casually brushed into each other, tails smacking, shoulders touching. It was casual intimacy. My heart raced.

I caught bits of conversations we kept moving.

“Defense track has a new instructor. Have you seen her scars?”

“Did you hear about the Dawn Flower? Assigned to a canid pack.”

“That’s him right there.”

Ryn leaned close, her muzzle brushing my ear, “Don’t look,” she whispered, “If you look, they know it hits.”

“I won’t,” I muttered, staring at the variety of options.

It was… endless. I had to get used to eating the same rotation of meals every week, if we were lucky enough to get food each day. Cuts of red meat piled high. Whole roasted chickens and turkeys. Stews that bubbled in vats more massive than my torso. Vegetables that were sauteed. Breads of all shapes and colors stacked like bricks.

Ryn had already grabbed a tray for me and began stacking meat on it, but Sia grabbed one of her paws as it reached for more steak. Sia pointed to a section of fruits, grains, and vegetables, “He needs those,” she said.

Ryn raised a brow, “That’s rabbit food.”

“It’s essential for humans,” Sia corrected, “and it’s nutritionally balanced.”

Kara glanced at the serving staff, the closest one was a boar with a bored expression, his face neutral and eyes distant, and then she looked down at me, “Let him choose. What do you eat?”

The question was simple, but it left an odd feeling in my chest. Like I was being gauged on how they intended to feed me every day from now on.

“I… eat everything,” I answer, “Humans are omnivores. Meats, vegetables, fruits, and grains. Whatever we can get.”

Ryn’s nose twitched, and her tail twitched twice, “You willingly eat plants.”

“Yes.”

Sia’s eyes brightened, “Humans are… fascinating. I know your dietary needs vaguely, but to actually see it?” She smiled, her tail wagging behind her in slow waves.

“I uh… thanks, I guess?”

Kara leaned down, voice quiet, “You will eat as much as you want.”

My stomach growls again. “Yes,” I hesitate, shame coursing through me at being malnourished, at showing that my Enclave wasn’t very… efficient. “I’m hungry.”

Her ears flicked back, just a moment, brief but profound in her expression. I knew for canids, it usually meant deference, distress, discomfort, or meant they were otherwise upset. She then did something that made me pause. She pushed the piles of meat off of her own tray, clearing it, then began plating various meats, bread, fruit, a bowl of what looked like oatmeal, and another bowl of leafy greens. Then she handed it to me, a small smile on her muzzle.

It was heavy enough to strain my arms. I had to use both hands and pull the tray close to my chest to stop my arms from shaking.

Ryn watched, amused, “You look like you’re carrying a shield.”

“It feels like it.”

Kara started walking before I could ask what she was going to do for her own food. I hurried to keep pace, balancing the tray and piles of food as best I could. Finding a seat was challenging. Most tables were already full, with packs cluttering together. Some students moved from Kara’s path as she approached; others didn’t.

She chose a table in the middle of the cafeteria. Not hidden, but not exposed. A strategic place, I realized. Giving a commanding view of everyone around us. She sat first, and the others followed. Kara’s paw patted the bench directly next to her, placing me between her and Ryn.

I clambered up without my arms, struggling to mount the massive beast of a back that formed the bench. Kara grabbed my tray, and Ryn put a paw on my back, stabilizing me. “Careful,” she murmured, her breath brushing over my ear.

My body stiffened, but I quickly relaxed, “Thanks.”

Ryn’s teeth flashed in a grin, “Anytime, small stuff.”

I couldn’t help but crack a smile at her various nicknames for me. I set the tray down next to the second tray Ryn had grabbed for me. It put a wall between me and the rest of the cafeteria. I stared at it, overwhelmed, unsure of where to start. This tray had more food than the three members of my family saw in a week at the Enclave. My heart pounded, and sweat broke my brow. I tried to reach for a piece of food, but shame and regret washed over me in equal measure.

I looked at the others, who were busy portioning their trays to replace the food Kara had given me. I watched her, a small smile in the corner of her muzzle as the others took care of her without comment. A pack. A second family.

My hand dropped to my lap, despite hunger pulling at me. I sighed, feeling wetness gathering at the corners of my eyes. Sia’s muzzle rose, her nostrils flaring. Her ears dropped flat to her skull, and she looked at me, her eyes dilating and darting over the trays, and then me.

“What’s wrong?”

Ryn and Kara scented the air next. They both stared down at me, their pupils dilating as if they were going into fight-or-flight mode.

I shook my head, “It’s nothing.”

Kara’s gaze sharpened, her eyes trying to pierce my mind, “Not nothing.”

Ryn’s paw found my forearm, the warmth seeping into me, “You smell like stress. More than usual.”

I swallowed, “It’s just… a lot.”

Kara looked at the two trays, “I don’t understand. Is that bad?”

“It’s more food than my family got in a week. I just… they’re in my head. I know how hungry they are, and I sit here with all this,” I wave my hand over the trays, “as if having this much food for one person is… normal.”

Sia reached past Kara, her paw grabbing my left hand, “It is normal, David.”

Kara reached for me, too. I expected a squeeze or her usual more stoic gestures or comments. Still, I shuddered when her paw found my back and rubbed in small circles, “We can’t change your past, or the hunger your family has faced, but we can make sure you never have to face those feelings alone. When we return to the dorm, we talk—if not today, then tomorrow.” She nodded once, having made the decision for me. Quiet was dangerous. It wasn’t for packs, she had said.

She reached for one of the trays and grabbed a burger, “Eat.”

It wasn’t cruel. It was simply a command from an alpha to their subordinate. And in her world… command was care. I’d already figured that out. I grabbed the burger, which required both hands. Sia realized this and let my left hand go. It was warm. It felt too real. As if I would wake from a dream any moment. All three watched me expectantly, not eating. I sighed, then bit into it.

The buns tasted different from the cricket flour I was used to. Lighter, more… airy and neutral in flavor. It will take getting used to, but it’s not bad. My throat tightened, tears threatening to fall, as the burst of juicy meat filled my mouth with a complexity of flavor I’d never experienced beyond a once-a-year Christmas dinner before my dad disappeared.

They noticed, but didn’t comment. Not even Ryn. Her paw squeezed my forearm, gentle, reassuring, then pulled away. Sia smiled, larger than I’d ever seen from her, and turned to her own tray. Kara’s paw continued to rub my back as she turned to her own shared food and dug in.

I’m not sure how long I worked on the burger, but halfway through, I put it down and looked over my other options. I looked to my right, at Ryn, as she tore into a giant chunk of steak with casual ease, fangs cutting through it as if it were bread. She noticed me watching as her jaw worked and grinned around the bite.

“You think we’re going to eat you, or something?”

I almost managed a small laugh, “I don’t.”

Sia’s ears angled forward, “We wouldn’t do that.”

Ryn’s grin widened as she swallowed the protein, “I might lick him.”

I choked on the piece of bread I was chewing, coughing. I grabbed my cup of mystery juice and downed a quarter of it. Tart. Sweet.

Ryn laughed, the sound a mix of animalistic yipping and a soft human voice—it was loud enough to turn a few heads. The sound seemed to draw in a hyena. He wasn’t alone. Another hyena and a lean wolf flanked him, who held an odd tilt to his head and a smile that leaned towards a snarl. The lead hyena was massive, with broad shoulders, dark fur with lighter spots, and a massive jaw filled to the brim with razor fangs.

He stopped at the edge of our table and watched me, his eyes darting over my trays, then my face. He was observing me in a way that made me wonder if he was questioning whether I was too strange a dish to take a bite out of or not.

“Out of your league, aren’t you, flower?” His voice was laden with amusement. “Are you sure you belong here?”

A quick snort of laughter rose from somewhere nearby. My hands tightened on my cup. My face heated, some embarrassment, but also some of that Enclave anger that always came when someone decided you were small or weak enough that you were an easy target. I looked at my pack, unsure what to do.

Ryn’s ears flattened, and her lips drew back into a snarl.

Sia didn’t say a word, but her claws scraped against the metal edge of the table.

Kara stood.

She didn’t scream. No snap. No bark. She simply stood to her full height, seeming to tower over the hyena, less physically and more by presence alone. The surrounding noise muffled into whispers as attention shifted toward us. Kara’s scars caught the light, reminding me for the first time they were still there, as her shoulders squared to the hyena.

His grin faltered, “Kara,” he said, tone more cautious, “relax. It was just a joke.”

She leaned forward, not much, but enough to let him know that he had her full attention. Her voice dropped to a rumble that I felt in my chest. “Jokes are for packmates,” her lips drew back, revealing fangs, “you are not mine.”

The hyena’s ears twitched. He looked past her and at me, then back to her. “So he is, then?” He asked. There was something beneath the words that went beyond curiosity. Possession… challenge. As if he were ready to test the boundaries of her claim. I was the prize.

Ryn stood then, the snarl still on her muzzle, her movement fluid and graceful. She took her place to Kara’s left, her posture low at first glance. I looked down at her legs, which had adjusted just enough to look coiled, her paws spread for balance if needed, as if bracing for explosive action or reaction.

“Pack protects its own,” Ryn said, her typically bright voice edged like a knife, “that’s kind of the point.”

Sia rose last, slowly and more methodically, almost reserved. Her ears were fixed on the hyena’s paws and his clothes. Her tail lashed behind her, eyes narrowed. She took a stance similar to Ryn’s, coiled with tension. The section of the cafeteria we were in was quiet enough that I could hear utensils being used in the distance. I sat trapped between wanting to run and wanting to stand with them to prove I wasn’t helpless. That I did deserve a chance to belong.

Stand. Rise, and show them the indomitable human spirit. My legs shook as I pushed off the bench. I clench my hands into fists to stop the shaking. One of Kara’s paws reached back to me, whether to steady me or hold me back from danger, I wasn’t sure. Maybe both.

The hyena’s paws rose, careful, palms up, “No offense meant,” he chuffed, his eyes fixed on me, “just curious.”

Kara growled, fangs glinting like daggers, “Your curiosity isn’t an excuse,” she said, “leave.”

He hesitated. Pride fought with a survival instinct. A feeling I knew all too well from my scuffs at the Enclave. Kara stepped forward once. His nostrils flared as he looked her over, focusing on the scars. He backed up.

“Fine,” he muttered, his eyes landing on me once more, “Enjoy being owned, little pet.”

Ryn’s teeth flashed, “Last chance, scruffy.”

He snorted and turned away, his packmates following. Whispers jumped around the cafeteria, and the buzz of regular activity began to return, slow but surely. The space the hyena left behind felt charged. Eyes lingered, ears tracked. I could feel the attention of this section of students, the way you can feel rain before it happens. The pressure in the atmosphere was just different. Subtle, but there.

I looked around as the various packs resumed eating, pretending to not be interested anymore, and my eyes fell on a uniformed serval who had a small rifle slung over his back. A peacekeeper. He was leaning against a pillar, his posture rigid. He wasn’t looking at me, but at the crowd. He was the vigil against the dark—and that dark was an unchecked challenge.

When his gaze fell on Kara, he nodded once. Small. But real. Ryn sat, but she didn’t take her eyes off the hyena until he disappeared into the noise and sea of fur. She looked at me again as I returned to the bench with her.

“Hyenas are known to test boundaries,” she said, near a whisper, “they like to see what’s soft.”

“I’m not soft,” I said, feeling a bit ridiculous as my hands still shook.

Ryn made a sharp sound that might have tilted into laughter if she weren’t still tense, “You’re human,” she said casually. Not an insult. Just a fact. “Soft doesn’t mean weak or wrong. Soft is… rare.”

Sia’s eyes watched my hands shake, “Your tremor is a stress response,” she said, her voice gentle, “not weakness.”

Kara’s eyes narrowed on me, their edge softening, “They wanted a reaction,” she said, “They wanted to see you cower. You stood. I’m proud of you, little one. Don’t give them the reactions they want.”

Sia nodded, “You did well.”

Ryn nudged my shoulder, light and well controlled, but still strong enough that I slid several inches on the bench, “Our little packmate has bite too.”

Tension began to leave my body, and I shuddered, “I wanted to run or hide. I only stood because you three had… how am I supposed to not react in the way they want?”

Kara’s voice was steady, low, but edged with a sweet tinge I’d not heard her use before, “You eat. You study. You stay with us. You let them see you belong.”

Belong. The word drifted inside my chest. Not unpleasant, almost warm.

Ryn leaned close to me, her voice low, “And if you ever want to bite someone,” she smiled, “tell me. I’ll do it.”

Despite my lingering tension, I laughed, short but true. Ryn’s grin grew wide, the typical shine in her eye, as if she could see through the storm that clouded my mind.

Sia’s tail swished, finally losing its rigid tension, “We need to talk about what they called you. It wasn’t playful.”

I frowned, “Flower?”

Ryn corrected, “A Dawn Flower.”

“It’s not a compliment,” I say, shaking my head.

“It’s not meant to be,” Sia says, “It’s cultural shorthand. Humans are fragile. Humans are precious. Humans are rare. Dawn Flowers are things you cultivate carefully and protect because they won’t survive without a greenhouse and careful paw.”

My chest tightened, “I survived.”

Sia’s brows rose, the corner of her muzzle pulling into a gentle smile, “Yes, you did. You’re a survivor. That’s why you’re here.”

Kara sighs, “Some will use the term to mock you,” she pauses, gauging my reaction, “others because they think it’s appropriate and polite. But some will also use it to claim.”

Claim. The word made my stomach fall.

Ryn tilted her head, ears perking towards me, “Why does it bother you?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but hesitated, “It feels like they’re talking about an idea. Not me. Not a person.”

“Then we make them talk about you,” she said, “David. Student. Packmate. Pain in my ass.”

I blinked, “What? I’m not-”

“You will be,” she says with conviction, as if it were a promise I was destined to fulfill. Her grin returned, brighter than before, tension easing around it.

Kara sat down again as if nothing had happened, her paw landing on my shoulder, “You’re pack.”

“He called me a pet.”

Ryn looked down at me between bites of a massive piece of red meat, her eyes fighting between trying to be playful and being careful not to push too far.

Sia’s voice was slow, almost hesitant, “Many will see you that way,” she admitted, “Humans are… special.”

Kara looked down at me, “They’ll learn who you are in time.”

Ryn leaned in, her breath caressing my ear, “You’re not alone, tiny.”

My greatest fear coming here was being alone, but on day two, this pack, my pack, was ready to draw blood for me. Was this because they thought of me as a pet? Or something more?

I swallowed. “Thanks,” I said, then looked at my food again. “I’m still hungry.”

Ryn bit into more of her own food, “Good. Eat. Gain some weight so yeens can’t call you fragile.”

“Hey,” I protested, “I’m not fragile,” but then remembered the strap, overheating, the way my legs felt like jello from overuse, “okay. I’m… relatively fragile.”

Sia’s ears perked towards me, “We can fix that.”

Kara’s gaze flicked to the meat on my tray, “Protein. Strength.”

Ryn jabbed a claw at my greens, “And rabbit food,” she added with mock disgust, sticking her tongue out for a moment as if the idea of tasting them was enough to make her gag.

Kara nodded, “That’s not all. There’s something else, too.”

My heart worked up a storm again, anticipating something, anything, but I forced my mind to reel it in, or at least tried, “Something else?”

She took a bite of a leg from a turkey, tearing a huge chunk from it, “Sparring.”

Sparring. Fighting. I shook my head, “Sparring? With whom, you three?”

She nodded, “When you’re ready. In the dorm.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to spar with giants that can just step on me casually.”

Ryn snorted, “It’ll be more fun than you think. Besides, you might even come to like that,” she winked.

Heat rose beneath my face as Sia added, “We will be gentle. But only when you’re ready.”

“When I’m ready… what exactly does that mean?”

One of Kara’s paws wrapped around my left bicep, lifting my arm, and inspecting it, “When we put a little meat on you. Soon.”

They went back to eating, leaving me to ruminate. They’re going to destroy me, but… if their actions and comments up to this point are a good indicator, I’ll be fine. Probably. Mostly. Maybe, I corrected myself.

My stomach twisted with hunger, drawing my mind back to food. I’ll think of sparring when we cross that bridge. I took a bite of steak. The taste was rich… real. My body responded immediately, relief blooming through my core. Food was more than fuel; it was comfort. It was status. It was symbolic and meant you were successful. Food as proof, I wasn’t going to go hungry anymore.

As we ate, the noise of the cafeteria became an obscure background once more. Packs laughed and shared food, argued and spoke of classes or the outside world. A few students glanced at me, averting their eyes when one of my pack glared at them. Still, others stared anyway, their curiosity an itch just beneath the surface of the skin, one you can feel, but not reach.

I tried not to care. As I neared my limit on what I could eat, I noticed something different. I wasn’t shaking anymore. The hyena’s words still stung, but I didn’t feel hollow. It didn’t make me want to run back to the Enclave, to rust, cold, and flickering lights, or my sister’s judgmental glare.

Because when the hyena had come, Kara had risen. Ryn had flanked, and Sia supported. And he left, his tail low. I looked down at my hands again. Small. Human. Soft. No claws, pads, or fur. They looked the same as they always had. But they now rested at a table in a city of giants—well, giants relative to me, as anthros averaged eight feet in height. More than that, the giants beside me had decided I belonged, and that mattered.

I told them to finish my food, and they didn’t hesitate. It didn’t take long for the week’s worth to disappear. When we finished, Kara stood first, “Let’s move,” she said, and we fell into formation. Kara to my right, Ryn on my left, and Sia keeping vigil from behind.

As we left the cafeteria, I glimpsed the hyena again, his gaze tracking me, expression unreadable. I pushed the thoughts of fear from my mind, and in their place, something new formed. Resolve. Tentative. Hesitant, even. But there. If this was my world now, then I’d learn to stand tall in it.

The afternoon continued on, uncaring of our thoughts or feelings, or whether my human legs were exhausted or not. There were more lectures, shorter ones, introductions, and administrative talk that all felt the same. The difference between admin talk here and back home, though, was that even gentle or bored words here carried an undercurrent of rumble or growl, maybe purr or chuff. Not aggression or anger, just natural.

By the time our last Core Pack class had ended, I was done pretending my legs didn’t throb and ache. My knee’s felt loose, like I could lose balance at any moment. My calves screamed. Even my feet ached. My mind buzzed with too many eyes and too much new information. It would take time to categorize by importance. By relevance.

Kara stopped us, “We need to go to the store. For you.”

Ryn nodded, “Supplies,” she added brightly, “human supplies.”

Sia agreed, “Accommodations.”

I rubbed my eyes, “I can do that later. I just want to lie down right now.”

Kara looked down at me, “You will lie down. After. We do this for you. It is needed.”

“Pack takes care of pack,” Sia added.

I wanted to argue. I wanted to stop and rest. I wanted to push on, proving I could adapt and overcome, that I could climb counters, hop benches… figure it out. I wanted to prove I wasn’t an issue that required fixing.

But the more I thought of it, the more obvious the dull throb in my feet began. Going another day like this would feel like being keelhauled.

So I nodded once, “Okay.”

The campus store was attached to a student services building, a vast space full of shelves, racks, bins, and displays. The doors opened as we reached them, and cold air rushed over us, carrying the scent of metal, plastic, and fresh fabric.

The first thing I noticed was the height of the counters, and if I stood on my toes, I could just see the tops of them.

Ryn yipped, “This is going to be fun.”

“It’s really not,” I muttered.

Sia’s gaze swept the store. “We need a step stool.”

Kara nodded, “Two. Bathroom and kitchen.”

“Kitchen?” I asked.

Ryn grinned, “You’re going to cook us dinner? Adorable.”

“I could,” I said automatically, defensively, “I had to. Back home.”

Her grin softened at the edges, “I know,” she said, her teasing dropping away just enough that my chest ached with regret at my snappiness.

We moved through aisles. Shelves were stocked with everything: towels the size of blankets, bedding so large I felt I could wrap myself in it six times over and have plenty to spare, hygiene products, clothing designed for bodies with fur and tails.

It wasn’t like the Enclave. Our shops were first come, first serve. People would line up and camp outside the buildings for days, depending on what word was on what was coming in. Once the crowds swarmed in, nothing was left, not even the little crap you’d think no one cared about.

I stopped at a rack of shirts and stared at them. Thick, soft fabric, and arms wide enough that I could fit my head through them. I needed new clothes, but the idea of wearing something this large felt wrong, like wearing armor that didn’t fit.

Sai noticed my pause, “We can alter them,” she said, “or order human-tailored clothing.”

“There’s human-size?”

Her ears flicked, “HIP has supplies.”

We found the stools in a back aisle, which we had to walk nearly ten minutes to reach. This store was as massive as everything else on campus, meant to sustain students and campus staff with everything they could need, year-round. The stools were metal, sturdy-looking, and designed for smaller species. I chuckled at the tag, which read, ‘For those who need a little boost.’

Ryn smiled, “What is it?”

“These are step stools?”

All three looked them over, then me, then back to them.

Ryn nodded, “Yep!”

They were big enough that an eight-foot-tall canid could sit on one without breaking it. For me, it might have been a chair with steps. Ryn lifted a single paw and snatched the nearest stool, “One,” she said.

Kara grabbed the second, “Two.”

Sia filled our basket with various things as we went. Hygiene products designed for those with sensitive skin beneath fur, or in my case, just skin, pull-cord kits, adhesive hooks, something labeled simply, ‘Height adjustable shower caddy,’ and much more.

I stared over the mounting pile in the cart, “You came prepared, huh?”

Her mouth twitched, a small smile, “I read the HIP guidelines last night.”

Ryn’s ear perked. “What she means is she researched your needs.”

Sia nodded, “Someone had to, Ryn. You know you’re glad I did.”

Ryn’s grin turned smug, “Maybe. I admit, it makes it easier to not have to guess.”

I cleared my throat. They all looked at me, “You could have just asked me.”

Sia’s ears took on a pink tone. Is she… blushing?

Ryn ruffled my hair with a paw, “And take the fun of discovery from us? Nah.”

I looked over the contents of the cart again, swallowing with apprehension, “I um, I’m not sure how I’m going to pay for this…”

Kara looked down at me, “All HIP participants get a monthly stipend, and all educational needs are paid for by the program, without question.”

“Does this stuff count as educational?”

She snorted, “It will.”

Sia added, “Yes. HIP Accommodations stipulate that equipment or items related to anything on campus, even inside of a dorm, for a human to adjust well are covered.”

Ryn stretched and yawned. I watched her fangs. Her eyes caught my own, and she grinned, “Don’t worry, we’ll get your stipend situation sorted soon. Then you can treat me to a nice dinner. And maybe I’ll treat you to some dessert afterwards.”

My heart fluttered, and I blinked a few times, feeling a warmth in my core. She giggled as we approached the checkout counter, and the clerk, a stoat with sharp-looking eyes, glanced up at us, his eyes growing wide as they caught sight of me, his nostrils flaring.

“A Dawn Flower,” he murmurs.

It sounded almost reverent. Kara stepped up to the counter, and the stoat’s gaze snapped to her. His posture changed, his shoulder pulling back and his ears lowering in deference.

“Pack purchase,” Kara said, “HIP Accommodations.”

The stoat blinked, “Accommodations?”

“Yes,” Kara replied, “We need human-sized clothing, a new tablet for conservation track, smaller writing tools, and a dorm adjustment request.”

The stoat’s eyes fell on me again, “We don’t usually handle that kin-”

Kara leaned forward, “You do now.”

He swallowed; it was audible, “Yes, ma’am.”

Ryn leaned down to whisper, “She does that.”

“I’ve noticed,” I whisper back.

I had to sign several forms, but the entire purchase was waived, and orders were placed for delivery to the dorm. I tried not to think of the number the display showed. I tried not to compare how much that would get someone in my Enclave. Tuition, housing, supplies… all covered.

All paid for by an international coalition that saw me as an investment.

A symbol.

Maybe both.

As we left, the stoat watched me with an expression I couldn’t place. Not hatred. Not pity or possession. Something else. Interest.

Ryn yipped, “Holy shit, we need to bring him everywhere and say it’s for his comfort and adjustment! Imagine everything we could get! New holoscreens for the dorm because his eyes have trouble reading the text, new coffee makers and other kitchen aids, because he’s used to certain human comforts, oh, and maybe eve-”

Sia cleared her throat and sighed, “Ryn…”

“Oh, come on! I’m joking,” she stopped herself mid-sentence, then mumbled so low I struggled to hear it, “kind of.”

Outside, the afternoon sun cast long shadows through the canopy of flora, passing through the glass corridors. The campus was alive, more so than this morning. Students passed in packs, laughing, shoving, or nuzzling in casual affection. A leopard groomed a cheetah’s ear while they walked. A pair of foxes walked paw in paw, tails flicking as if synchronized. There was intimacy everywhere, public… unashamed.

I was in my now formal spot in our formation. Protected. It took nearly thirty-five minutes of walking to reach our dorm, though I suspect that at their true pace, it would be less than half that. When the door slid open, and the familiar scent of warm bodies and my pack’s subtle musk hit me, I shuddered in relief. It was already beginning to smell like… not home. Not comfort. But familiarly.

Kara set the stools down, then reached for various supplies we had grabbed. “Rest first, then we start.”

Ryn dropped onto the couch, “Aw, and here I was thinking we’d get to relax for the rest of the day,” she complained.

Sia stepped over her, bopping the top of her head with her tail as she passed, “Don’t lie, Ryn, you’re enjoying this.”

“I enjoy watching you organize.”

Sia chuffed, but her tail wagged several times as she fought a smile. I stood awkwardly near the back of the couch, not sure where to put myself. I just want to lie down. This was their home, and I was still figuring out where my spaces were meant to be.

Kara sat as well, nodding to me, “When we’re ready, you show us where you struggle.”

My face burned, “Everywhere.”

Her gaze narrowed, “Specifics.”

“Fine. Bathroom. The mirror is too high, the sink is too. The toilet is huge,” Ryn’s snickering cut me off, but Sia extended one of her legs and smacked her with the pads of her paw to quiet her. “The shower, I have no idea how to work it. And… the manual override light switches. The pantry shelves, the cabinets, the kitchen counter. Sometimes the door panels don’t register my hand.”

Sia’s ears angled forward, “The sensors need to be adjusted. Thresholds, maybe?” She scratched the side of her muzzle, mumbling under her breath.

Ryn sat up, eyes bright once more, “And the den-bed,” she said.

I glared, “The den-bed… is fine.”

Her grin grew, her tail thumping the couch, “Yeah. You’re right. You should have seen the way you tried to crawl into my fur after you fell asleep.”

My heart jumped, and I stuttered, trying to form the words to deny it.

“Kara,” Sia said, “let’s focus on the bathroom first. Smallest room.”

Kara nodded, leaping from the couch. I expected to be rocked from the motion, or to feel it, but the cushions absorbed it all. What I did feel was the crushing thump of her pads hitting the floor. I don’t know how heavy she is, but… she must be at least three or four hundred pounds more than I am. All of them, probably. Yet, they all look so athletic, well-toned, almost lithe.

We followed. The bathroom looked different with the afternoon sun filling it from the overhead glass panels, the tiles were glossy, and the mirror reflected a distorted view of the clouds overhead. We set a stool in front of the sink, and Kara motioned for me to try it.

I stepped onto it slowly, cautiously, testing its strength. I laughed, trying to stop myself.

Sia smiles, “What?”

“It’s nothing.” I shook my head.

Ryn’s grin filled the mirror, “Not nothing. Tell us.”

Kara nodded, “Pack shares. Our thoughts, our feelings, our struggles.”

I sigh, “Yeah… quiet is dangerous, you said. Well, I was just laughing because I was concerned it would break or collapse beneath me.”

Ryn snorted, “That thing is designed for us,” she poked my side with a claw, gentle, not piercing, “skinny.”

I climbed up and could look at myself normally in the mirror. I blinked at my reflection, startled by the relief I felt just to feel… normal. My eyes looked less tired than this morning, though I definitely was—my hair was kind of a mess, but at least I could see it.

“It works,” I say, whisper-quiet.

Sia sounded happy, “Good.”

Kara nodded and then gestured to the shower, “Caddy.”

We installed the height-adjustable caddy so that I could reach all of my own supplies. Sia handled the adhesive strips with precision, each going on flush, clean, and perfectly symmetrical with the others. Ryn put things in place, her claws careful not to puncture bottles of body cleansers or shampoos. Kara directed, handing hygiene items off to Ryn.

“Ah, crap.” I sigh.

All eyes darted up to me, wide and worried. Kara stepped towards me, “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, it’s not a big deal, I guess, but I forgot razors.”

Ryn lifted a brow, her tail flicking a few times, “Razors?”

Sia nodded, “For your face,” she seemed sure, then confirmed with a bit of hesitation, “right?”

I rubbed my hand over my stubble, “Right. I’m not a fan of having a beard.”

Ryn stepped towards me, her tail nearly taking off, “Wait, wait. You’re telling me your face is going to keep growing fur?”

“Hair,” I corrected, “but yes. It can get pretty long, actually.”

Her pupils dilated, “Oh, I just bet that’s adorable! Let it grow, please! You can pet it when you get stressed, like how many of us will pet our own tails when worried.”

I shook my head and chuckled, “Not going to happen, sorry. You’ll just have to be satisfied with what I have up top, and besides, that’s not really a self-soothing technique for humans.”

Her ears fell, and she clicked her tongue, “Aw. Well, that’s fine, I have plenty of fur you can pet if you get stressed.”

I swallowed, heat rising once more, “Oh, um… I’m not sure tha-”

One of her paws enveloped one of my hands, her soft fur and the warmth of her pads pleasant, she pulled me forward, slowly and with care, as if she could break me if she pulled faster. She probably would if she tried. Despite my thoughts not immediately screaming danger, my body did. Adrenaline surged, and I trembled.

She smiled, her eyes half lidded, “Trust me. Please.”

Sia and Kara watched, waiting for my reaction. Sia’s eyes were wide, her ears half pinned, but her swaying tail betrayed a level of excitement. Kara’s eyes were narrowed, and she had closed the distance between us, ready to intervene if needed. Ryn curled her tail around her side, presenting it. She pulled my hand to it and released me. It was dense and impossibly soft.

I shuddered. Fear. Apprehension. Curiosity. And something else, something hidden beneath it, something I couldn’t make sense of. I pushed my hand forward, waiting for something bad to happen. To get burned, as if she were a stove-top. To be mauled or clawed for touching her. But neither happened as my fingers disappeared into the fluff. It twitched at my touch as I ran my fingers through the fur, combing it a few times.

Kara rumbled, sounding pleased, “Good. Grooming is normal. It’s expected.”

“Expected?”

Sia added, “Intimacy isn’t shunned. Fur brushing, nuzzling, scenting—all things expected of packmates.”

Ryn shivered as I brushed my fingers up towards the small of her back, “Oh, that feels nice, skinny.”

Nerves finally broke. Embarrassment. I pulled my hand away, my face burning and chest thundering. Ryn’s tail took its normal position as her grin showed every fang.

“Not too bad, huh?”

I nodded, “Yeah… no-not too bad.”

All three of their tails began to wag, thumping into the walls of the shower or the glass shower door. I cleared my throat, “The manual light switches.”

Sia’s eyes flicked past me and towards the panels above my head. “Pull-cords,” she said.

Within a few minutes, they had attached a small cord with a handle that hung at my height. I tugged it, flicking the auto lights off. I smiled wide, real.

Ryn saw it, of course, and pounced on the moment, “He smiled,” she announced.

“I did not!”

“You did,” she insisted, leaning close enough that her breath warmed my cheek, “It was cute.”

Kara made a low sound that seemed like amusement to me.

Sia’s tail wagged faster, “He’s happy.”

The word “happy” made something in my chest soften in a way that frightened me. We moved through the dorm, fixing small things that made a massive difference in my comfort. Pull-cords on cabinet handles, the pantry, a stool in the kitchen, a hook by the entrance door that my bag could hang from, next to theirs. A new shelf was added in the fridge, low and easy to reach.

“Your food,” Ryn says, looking at the new shelf in the fridge, “rabbit food. You’re gonna rot.”

“I won’t,” I counter, “I eat meat, too.”

“Not enough,” Kara said, matter-of-fact.

My mouth fell open, a protest on the edge of my tongue that never came. I closed it. Fighting about my diet with an eight-foot wolf who considered “eat” a command was a battle I’d never win. Especially when she was right.

Sia tapped my arm, light, as if she was afraid I’d break, “We can plan meals,” she offered, “balance your vitamins, minerals, calories, other things.”

“I don’t want to be monitored,” I snap, my voice much sharper than I meant.

She froze, her eyes going wide, as if I’d slapped her. Ryn’s ears lowered, and Kara’s gaze narrowed.

I exhaled, trying to release the immediate hit of guilt, “I’m sorry,” I say quietly, “I just… back home, people watched you because they wanted what you had. Or because they wanted you to owe them. Nothing was done out of kindness. It was all transactional, whether you knew it or not.”

Sia’s eyes softened, losing that edge of pain, “We don’t want you to owe, or take from you.”

Kara’s voice was steady, but carried the edge of something other than authority, “You owe only pack loyalty,” she said, “and that isn’t debt. That is bond.”

Ryn leaned against a counter, studying me, “You’re allowed to feel strange about it,” she said, her voice gentle, “But you still have to eat a balanced diet—if Sia says it’s important, then I know it’s true. She knows her stuff.”

I tried to diffuse the remaining tension by laughing, small but not forced, “Food is strength… seems to be a recurring theme.”

“It is,” Kara agreed with her own previous statement, and the simplicity and certainty in it made me laugh again, more genuinely.

The work should have been exhausting, but it was more grounding. It turned the dorm from an intimidating space I felt I could never feel comfortable in to one that now felt a little more like… comfort. It at least made my environment stop screaming, ‘You don’t fit.’

By the time we finished, the sun had fallen, with only the remnants of orange light flowing into the windows. The city seemed to become louder again. Evening traffic, distant sirens, the lives of countless people moving beyond our walls.

Ryn flopped back onto the couch and sighed, “We deserve a reward.”

Sia sat beside her, rubbing the sides of her head, just below the ears, “We deserve dinner.”

Kara moved in a way that screamed experience to me as she flowed around the kitchen, pulling ingredients from the fridge and cutting meat to precise sizes. Sia had joined her and was cutting vegetables with her claws. I watched for a moment, expecting her to butcher the vegetables with her claws. Still, she was precise in her actions, like everything else I’d seen of her so far.

Ryn hovered like a floor supervisor whose only qualification was being entertained by watching others work and her connections to the boss’s kid.

“I want to help,” I say, eyeing the counter, the stool sitting next to it an open invitation. Kara’s ears perked towards me, a smile pulling at her muzzle, but she said nothing. Sia handed me a mixing bowl and said, “Mix this, please.” I started on the task, just glad to contribute.

“There’s that smile again.”

“Stop narrating me, Ryn,” I mutter, trying to force a frown that breaks into a small smile.

I stirred chopped vegetables together, then mixed in an oil-based solution, herbs, and seasonings. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it looked and smelled good. The scent of searing meat filled the dorm—rich, sharp, heavy. My mouth watered, and for a slight moment, I forgot what it was like to be the outlier. The anomaly.

When we ate, it wasn’t in the kitchen. Kara pulled a folding table into the common room pit, and we settled in around it, sharing from the same dishes. Ryn tore bites with her teeth, then nudged a smaller portion towards me with a claw, like she was trying to subtly feed a small animal. Sia watched my face after every bite like she was checking to see if I actually liked it. Kara ate more slowly than the others, her eyes tracking the amount I ate.

It was intimate. Too much. Not enough. All at once. It was odd. And it tasted like… being allowed to exist.

Kara leaned towards me as we finished, “You deserve rest.”

The statement made my chest tighten. I didn’t trust it yet. Not so much her, though I was still learning to trust them too, but more so the idea that I deserved anything here.

“I’m going to write. Maybe draw,” I say, nodding at my journal.

Ryn perked up, “Can we read?”

“No,” I answered. Firm. Immediate.

She laughs, “I knew you’d say that.”

Sia’s gaze was soft. “Writing helps you process?”

“It helps me remember,” I admitted.

Kara leaned forward, just enough that I caught the movement, “Remember what?”

I hesitated. The Enclave. My mother’s scent—sanitizer and iodine. Lena’s painful words. The way my trailer’s walls shook when the door slammed. The cool winter air passed through the thin metal walls as if they weren’t there. My father’s absence. The way I’d left it all behind.

“Home,” I said, quiet, barely able to push the word out.

The word hung in the air. Ryn’s grin faded. Sia’s ears lowered. Kara’s eyes held my own, steady, but something else hid behind them.

“Home isn’t always safe, and you should share your feelings,” Kara finally said, “But the memories are yours. Keep it to yourself, for now.”

Her permission was strange. I wasn’t looking for permission, but it was nice to have anyway—despite the implication I’d have to share at some point. I nodded and climbed further into the couch, my journal in my hands. The pages were blank where the next chapter of my journey would begin—it made my stomach twist. Blank pages always did. There were endless possibilities...

I wrote.

I wrote about waking in fur. About the life of Solaris City. About Kara’s strap, a… leash of a sort, and the way it guided me and made the crowds part. About the hyena’s grin and being called a pet. How my pack defended me. The abundance of food and the guilt that came with it. About pull-cords and step stools. The ridiculous relief of being able to see myself in a mirror properly.

I paused at some point, my hand feeling a little sore from all the writing throughout the day. I glanced up, realizing how quiet the room was.

Ryn was watching me from across the pit, her chin propped up on her paws, eyes bright, tail swaying in gentle arcs. Sia was beside her, posture relaxed, her eyes moving between my face and my journal, trying to read my mood. Kara sat crossed-legged to my left, massaging the pads of one of her footpaws, her ears angled towards me.

They weren’t hovering or crowding. But they were observant. Respectful of my quiet. Of my privacy, at least, in this journal. The fear that had been a near constant companion since I’d left home was different—not gone—but arranged in a new way. Like furniture moved to make room for something new.

Belonging? Maybe.

Or the start of it.

Night finally fell, and the dorm lights dimmed to cool blue. The city outside the windows was bright, pulsing with the traffic and lights of its own lifeblood in the form of vehicles, packs, individuals, and more.

Kara stood, “Time.”

My chest tightened at the word. Memory of the night before. Knowing the den-bed waits for us.

Ryn hopped up with a yip, “Den time.”

Sia stood, watching me, “You’re tired.”

“I am,” I nodded.

Kara stepped towards the hallway, “Then you sleep.”

I nodded, slid off the couch that my feet could dangle from, and followed them. The den-bed waited, furs fluffed and pillows piled. I climbed in last, less afraid than the previous night, but still cautious and a bit conscious. Kara lay to my left again, the heat radiating from her fur like a wall. She put an arm over my chest. Ryn pressed into my right side, her paw finding my waist, in the same position as the night before.

Sia curled above us, her tail making its way towards my throat. She stopped, looking down at me. I looked at Kara’s arm and Ryn’s paw, sighed, and nodded. Her tail took its place, a warm, soft, living scarf.

The positions were the same. My heart still raced, but it wasn’t just fear now. It was something else, too, an awareness, gratitude, hope, and the strange ache of being held.

Sia’s voice broke the dark, a whisper to light my mind, “Breathe.”

I did.

Outside, Solaris City continued on, a beast that never slept like the Enclave. Inside, the pack’s warmth pressed in around me. For the second night in a row, I realized that the thing I had feared the most, being alone in this city, was never going to be my reality. I feared the closeness, too, but it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.

My eyes closed. Tomorrow will be another test.

But right now?

I wasn’t alone.

A Remnant of Dawn

Chapter Three

I woke to warmth.

Three mornings of lying among bodies much larger than my own. Of radiating heat that my bones still refused to soak in. I shivered involuntarily, a learned behavior after an entire life spent in a damp, cold environment with failing heaters and thin sheet metal, the only thing separating me from the outside elements.

Unlike the first two nights, I didn’t wake every hour, my body deciding for itself that it needed to be ready to take flight. The den-bed’s heat wrapped around me from three sides. Kara’s chest pressed to my back, an arm and paw draped over my side. Ryn’s forehead was pressed into my chest, and Sia’s tail over my neck, a living scarf meant to ward away biting cold or unpleasant memories; the scent of three predators: Warm, living, animal.

Cool blue bled into pale gold as the lights came to life alongside us. Solaris City sounded distant through the window but ever-present.

Day three.

I counted them as if I could lose track in such a short period. I needed to. It was a level of control. Something I could track. My body was still running on Enclave routine despite my constant reassurances to myself that I was... safe? Welcome? I’m still not sure.

I realized mid-thought that I had been observing the three predators surrounding me, watching the flick of an ear or the twitch of a muzzle. Waiting to feel the tail over my neck twitch. Still tracking that I was inches from fangs and claws that could rend me.

Fangs and claws that could but hadn’t.

Kara woke first. Always did. Her breathing shifted, and her paw flexed against my sternum, a prick of claws on the edge of skin that made goosebumps rise and spread. I’d watched in my own way, as they watched me, and recognized the pattern already.

Ryn began to wake up next, because, well… Ryn is Ryn.

She stretched and yawned, her cold nose gliding up my chest and over Kara’s paw on my sternum.

“Morning, tiny.”

“Morning.”

The tail around my neck finally moved, the tickle of soft fur pleasant and strange against the sensitive skin. Sia yawned, her spine popping as she stretched.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Better.”

Ryn’s nose pressed to the side of my neck and flared several times. Not questioning or requesting; a simple thing for her. For them. I flinched at the touch of the cool flesh of her nose beneath my ear, and she huffed a small laugh into my ear.

“You smell… less afraid.”

“I’m not less afraid.”

She clicked her tongue. “Can’t fool the nose.”

Kara rolled onto her back, releasing me. It clicked in my mind that somehow, she had been awake before the rest of us, and her stillness was a choice and observation, waiting on the rest of us. As she sat up, the den-bed shifted enough to pull me closer to her thigh.

“We have an appointment this morning.”

We. The declaration that my health and appointment were also the others still unsettled me to some private human degree, but beneath that was something warmer I couldn’t yet name.

“Time to get up. Hygiene, breakfast.”

“I’m up.”

“Good.” She was already halfway out of the room.

I slid away from Ryn and Sia. Ryn’s paw trailed along my side as I left. My feet hit the cool floor, but it wasn’t the shock that registered first in my mind. It was the distinct absence of their radiating heat over the rest of my body that I noticed first. They liked it cold in here.

An involuntary gasp I hoped Ryn hadn’t heard escaped as cold flowed up my legs.

“You squeaked like prey.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“It’s cold, Ryn.”

“I know, tiny.” She rolled herself onto a side and propped her head up with a paw, watching me with that look she always had when something amused her. “It was cute.”

Despite wanting to argue more, I knew I’d never win, and so I grabbed fresh clothes and fled towards the bathroom. She yipped a bright laugh as I left, and Sia responded with her typical exasperated “Ryn” that never seemed to stop her.

The bathroom lights came to life as I entered and stepped onto the stool in front of the sink. I smiled without thought. Small things matter. At least, they matter to me. I looked at myself in the mirror—and ran cool water over my features. I look…

The bags beneath my eyes aren’t as dark. My eyes don’t have that sunken and defeated look typical of the downtrodden. Even my bedhead seemed to be less chaotic than it was every morning in the Enclave. Mom and Lena cross my mind. I wonder what they’re doing right now. Probably eating leftovers for breakfast and sipping on the not-quite coffee they had access to.

I looked down at my left wrist, and my heart fluttered once and then settled again. Nothing is there. Not yet. With a sigh, I brushed and left the bathroom for the common room.

Breakfast was Kara’s domain. An element she controlled with grace and such nonchalant command that it told me all I needed to know. When she was comfortable, she was in control and needed few words.

Kara cooked, but Sia would add things throughout as needed. Ryn hovered nearby, commenting on her observations. Fried eggs and actual bread, not cricket flour that was rare and attached to supply convoys on three-month cycles. Meat… I’d stopped trying to figure out what each kind of cut was. I simply enjoyed the flavors and dreaded the fullness that came with it.

They’re hungry. My family. My people. I’m not. I… Sia had said it was normal. For a person not to be hungry. For there to be more than enough food. I know she’s right, but my body still screams about it because it’s foreign to years of near-starvation.

Sia set a small dish near my left hand. Three slices of… something. Something sickly-pale and that smelled sweet.

“Vitamin C.”

“Thank you.”

“Your levels are low.”

“I know.”

I didn’t know, not really. I hadn’t known it until yesterday. But I was trying to process her words without arguing, because arguing leads nowhere, and Sia was never wrong about the things she researched.

Kara set a plate between my hands. It was piled with nearly twice as much protein as the two previous mornings.

“Please. Eat.” She said, not looking at me as she sat with her own plate.

Ryn hopped into her place, shifting in a way that her tail swayed behind her with each movement. She flashed some fangs in a smile when she noticed me watching. I cleared my throat and began eating.

“So.” Ryn’s eyes were always so bright, “Today is the day.”

I looked at my left wrist, then her eyes.

“Don’t pretend you’ve forgotten.”

“I didn’t forget.”

“I know. You’ve been checking that wrist every minute since you woke up.”

“I haven’t.”

“You did it three times at the sink,” her head tilted in that canine way, “I heard it.”

I nearly cough-laughed, “You heard me looking at my wrist?”

She yipped. “Nope! But you basically just told me that you did in fact look!”

Sia sighed. “Ryn.”

“What? I’m just observing!” She reached across and tapped a finger pad on the inside of my wrist, “This whole area here. The place where it goes!”

I pulled my hand in just enough that she’d have to stretch to reach it again. “Eat your food, Ryn.”

“You're trying to deflect, tiny.”

“I’m eating. Deflecting food with my mouth.”

“That counts.”

Sia looked up from her food, “Leave him alone.”

Ryn’s ears twitched, “I’m being supportive.”

“You’re teasing him.”

“I’m being teasingly supportive!”

Kara barked a laugh. Ryn’s eye lit up, and her ears lifted in triumph before she went back to her food, victorious in her teasing and with the smug air of someone who had won something no one was competing for.

As we ate, a datapad on the nearby counter chimed.

Ryn’s ear moved before her head, registering the sound before it finished, and she leaned over past me—close enough that I could smell her; sun-bathed stone and something warm, something sharper—and read the screen.

“Medical Wing.” She grinned, “Biometric Registration. Today. Mandatory within seventy-two hours of your enrollment.” She looked down at me, her nose inches from my own, “That’s you, tiny.”

“I know.”

“Chip day!”

“Ryn.”

“Chip day.”

“Please stop.”

“You want me to call it something else instead? Registration day? Jab day? Lab rat day?”

I shook my head. “None of those sounds good.”

“The-day-you-become-official-day?”

I put my fork down.

Her grin softened, her tail slowing. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just—” I swallowed. “Processing.”

She nodded and went back to her food. But one of her paws reached out and touched my left knee. She squeezed, the pads of her paw and fingers pressing into my skin, spreading warmth. She removed her paw a second later. Despite myself, I couldn’t stop a half-smile.

Kara had been watching, and I still couldn’t name the expression. Sia tapped her own datapad. “I’ve reviewed the procedure for you.”

“When?”

“This morning, before the notifs dropped.”

Ryn chuffed.

Sia didn’t try to deny it. Her ears took on a pink hue at their bases. Faint, but there. She lifted her chin and looked into my eyes, as if daring me to say something.

“What time?”

“Early.”

“How early?”

“Early enough to read it all.”

Ryn yipped. “She was worried, tiny. Let her be!”

“I wasn’t worried. I was being prepared.”

“Same thing but with a better word.”

“It’s not the same.”

“It is.”

Sia’s ear flicked in response, but nothing more was said. Her eyes shifted back to her datapad with an air of wounded dignity that made me chuckle without meaning to, and when I did, Ryn’s grin widened, and for the first time since I woke, the chip was a faint thing at the back of my mind.

Then it passed as quickly as it came, and the weight of it all returned.

“You’ll be okay.”

“I know, Sia.”

“It’s not invasive, and the full recovery window is under forty-eight hours.”

“I read the bullet points.”

“I know,” she paused. “I’m saying it because you keep looking at your wrist.”

I looked down to notice my right hand had clamped back over the left while I wasn’t thinking about it, or watching. My thumb was pressed on the spot that Ryn had tapped, gently, and I’d been rubbing at it for an amount of time I couldn’t say.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Kara set her fork down. “After we finish breakfast, we leave.”

“Yeah…” I rubbed the back of my head.”

She nodded towards my plate. “Finish.”

It didn’t take long without banter. Soon, I was in dark jeans and a clean shirt. Boots, because human feet weren’t made for this world in the same way an anthros' digitigrade paws were.

The pack was ready when I left the bathroom. Kara wore neutral casual clothes that accentuated her form. Ryn wore the same shirt from the day before, but new pants that… that I needed to divert my eyes away from because they hugged her a little too well. Sia wore something pressed that looked like the person who ironed it had enjoyed the act itself.

“Ready?” Kara asked me.

I nodded and went to grab the strap of her backpack, as I had the last two days, to help keep pace, but one of her paws wrapped around my hand. Warmth from her pads seeped through my skin.

“No. Pack cares for pack. We walk at your pace.”

I met her eyes as she nodded once and turned, her tail lifted a fraction above its normally neutral posture, and followed her out the door. As we traveled, other anthros gave us space. I’m still not sure if it’s deference to the pack, avoidance of me, or… something else.

A cheetah passing us gave more room than needed, his ears flicking towards me as we passed. A pair of red foxes at the end of the hall went quiet as we passed, before resuming their conversation.

The medical wing was a new area for me. Deeper in and past the residential corridors, through several junctions that Kara navigated us through without looking at her map on her datapad. The architecture shifted, less warmth and more… cool in color. The air smelled different, too. No warmth of living musk. Antiseptics and metal. Something beneath it all I couldn’t name.

I know that smell… where do I know that smell?

My stomach twisted at the realization. GAC aid convoys. Twice a year, medical teams would pass through and set up in the Enclaves' communal building. They’d check vitals, vaccinate, and perform minor operations and dental procedures. Mom worked with them sometimes, when it came to the miners. She’d come home smelling like this.

Mom. Her hair was pulled back in a knot. Silver at her temples. The way she’d hugged me before I left the Enclave. Don’t let them decide who you are. I hadn’t even sent her a message yet. I don’t know how. I don’t know what to say.

Sia put a paw on my right arm, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s just… It’s the smell.”

Her ears angled forward, but she fell silent.

Soon, a sign appeared, stopping me. Not because of what was on the sign, but because it was at eye level, for once.

Medical Wing - Integrated Species Care. A GAC seal. Beside it, a new symbol I’d never seen before: two figures with clean lines, one much taller than the other, both facing the same direction: a human and an anthro.

“The ISC image is new,” Sia said. “Cross-species medical care. Before that, humans in GAC facilities were handled on a case-by-case basis.”

“What changed?”

“HIP. The initiative. More humans. More scaled needs.”

I looked at the sign for a moment longer. In the Enclave, policy had promised infrastructure and nothing else. Nothing followed through.

“Okay,” I said.

“The exam table should already be ready before we come in. ISC Protocol.”

“When did you learn that?”

“This morning.”

Ryn muttered, “She was awake before the notifications…”

“I’m aware of when I woke up, Ryn.”

“I’m just saying it again because it’s very cute.”

“It wasn’t cute. It was preparation.”

“Cute preparation.”

“Ryn, I swear—”

Kara stepped forward. “Inside.”

We followed.

The waiting room was empty. An elk woman sat behind the reception desk, and when we approached, she looked up at me with the focus of someone who had been told what to expect and coached on how to react. She didn’t stare, just a glance that moved on to Kara.

“Dr. Fenn is ready. Room four, down the hall on the left side. Your pack may wait here.”

“My pack is coming.” I swallowed, my heart dropping at my own words that came out unfiltered.

She nodded. “Very well.”

Ryn made a noise in her chest, and Sia smiled at me, fangs peaking.

The hall wasn’t long, and the last door on the left, the fourth one, was open. I checked exits, obstructions, and people, in that specific order. Enclave memories. The equipment along the right wall meant little to me. The examination table in the center was lower than all the tables I’d seen elsewhere in the university. Low enough that my feet wouldn’t dangle.

Dr. Fenn was at a projection panel. A leopard. Older—judging by the silver on his muzzle and temples. He moved through the room in a way that seemed different to me. Like he wasn’t trying to own the space, but merely existed within it. He turned to us as he stepped in. His eyes found mine first, then the packs, and then back to mine.

He stepped towards me, holding out a paw at a height that felt normal between humans.

“David.”

No pause in my name.

“I’m Dr. Fenn. Thank you for coming.”

“Thanks for…” I paused, thinking on the proper response, “seeing me.”

“Have a seat. We’ll go through the chip first and the rest after.”

I climbed onto the exam table, sitting on the edge, feet on the floor. “May I ask about the chip first?”

“Please.”

“What does it actually do?”

“A few things.” He gestured at a display, and a diagram expanded, a simple cross-section of a wrist and a small rectangular item beneath the skin. “Identification. Emergency medical contact. Pack Designation. It doesn’t transmit unless queried, or your vitals are unstable. It can only be queried by specific authorized systems.”

“Tracking?”

“No.”

“At all?”

His first pause, a flick of the tail. “Under one exception. If you are non-responsive, the GAC emergency network can ping it to determine your location. That only triggers when specific vital thresholds are met. In any other state, the location data is inaccessible to anyone.”

“And… what about my pack?”

“Your alpha gets two things.” He tapped at the display with a claw, “Designation confirmation. An ID of a sort. And a three-color vital status indicator. Green for normal, yellow for elevated, and red for critical. That’s it. She cannot see your specific vitals, your location, or any history associated with the device.”

“And this is normal.”

“Every anthro has one.”

Ryn stepped towards me, using two of her claws to spread the fur on her left wrist, “It's safe.”

“Okay.”

Kara shifted her stance. My chest felt tight in a way that wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t good either. I looked at Dr. Fenn and tried to stop thinking about the Enclave. How being tracked there meant only bad things.

“Ready?” He asked.

“As I can be.”

He lifted the insertion device from a tray. It was smaller than I expected, almost elegant in a strange way. It looked nothing like the needles of the convoys that I made a habit of dodging. He swabbed the inside of my wrist. My pulse jumped. I could feel the stutter in my throat.

He pressed the device to my skin. There was a sting. Barely. Gone faster than I could have braced for. I released a sigh and looked at my wrist, at the scar and sealed dot where nothing had been before. That was it.

“Done.”

I nodded.

Sia’s tail thumbed the wall a few times. Quiet, but not like the quiet of the room. I didn’t look at her. Ryn made a small sound that was… nothing, and something. Kara didn’t move.

“The chip will send your alpha a notification within forty-eight hours, confirming your designation. How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

“Lightheaded?”

“No.”

“Nauseous?”

“No.”

“Good. Those are typical responses from many anthros.”

He moved into the next step, the way I was learning medical people did, giving you something to focus on after a moment, rather than letting you sit in your thoughts. “I’d like to get your baseline vitals and a full skeletal scan. It takes about four minutes.”

“Okay.”

The scanner was along the wall. I stepped off the table and into it. The walls were cool against my skin where they touched. A panel slid halfway across the entrance, and sensors extended gently towards me as a cuff wrapped around my left upper arm and tightened. A cool contact touched my right temple. I counted, not because I had to, but because my brain needed something else to focus on.

One.

Two.

Three.

Sia. She’s in here, watching, at the edge of this space. Her ears are forward in position. Not anxious. Reading. Focused.

Ryn. She’d gone still against the opposite wall, arms crossed over her chest, tracking everything with her typical teasing dialed down to something quiet. She did that when she was really paying attention to something, I realized.

Kara was watching my face. Waiting for some kind of reaction, maybe. Watching to see if I was uncomfortable, a pack alpha ready to step in.

One hundred.

One ten.

One twenty.

I closed my eyes.

When I reached 240, the sensors retracted. The panel slid back, and I stepped out. The room was exactly as I had left it, my legs felt normal, and nothing was different.

Dr. Fenn was at the projection panel.

“Weight,” he read, the numbers displayed for all to see, “bone density, muscle mass index, caloric expenditure versus last reported Enclave intake averages.”

An amber mark appeared beside the last reported information.

“Your body has been doing extraordinary work on insufficient fuel.” He was calm, no judgment that I could hear in his voice. “We can fix this.”

I nodded. I smacked my lips a few times; my mouth and throat felt like a desert.

“Sia,” Dr. Fenn looked at her, “do you have his dietary profile?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll go over supplementation at the end. For now—”

A secondary panel opened. I wasn’t watching for it. I’d been looking at the numbers, at the amber color. An impersonal catalog of who and what I was. My eyes moved when his did, and I saw a skeleton on the second display. My skeleton.

Blue rendered from the scan outlined against a dark background. Distributed across the frame, flashing points. Amber again. I counted them without meaning to. I stopped at nine. Some were clustered and looked to overlap.

I stared.

“David.”

His voice sounded distant.

“Some of these are old, but a few are newer,” he said, “without proper intervention. The bone modeling tells me most are years old.”

I didn’t speak.

“Four of your right metacarpals,” he moved through the scan, “four ribs at different stages. Stress fractures along the left tibia are consistent with repeated high-impact activity. Two fingers on the left hand, healed with slight deviations from normal.”

My left hand went to my ribs on its own.

“And there’s evidence of a right orbital fracture. Old and well-healed, but the density of the bone itself is irregular.”

The room was quiet. Too quiet.

“Can you tell me about these injuries?”

It wasn’t really a question. I knew that. More… an opening. The kind of thing a doctor would say when they already knew the answer but wanted you to say it anyway, so they could hear it from you and document it.

“I…”

I cleared my throat and tried again.

“Work. And… food.”

He waited.

“In the… in the Enclave.” I was looking at the numbers again because I couldn’t look into any of their eyes yet. “Foremen distributed shifts for work. Every day. Nothing guaranteed. If there were too many people and not enough tasks…” I stopped, my throat fighting to close.

I looked down at my hands, a tremble building that I fought to contain by squeezing them together, “Sometimes someone decided they wanted the shift more than you did. So they’d… argue the point.”

The amber lights seemed to pulse.

“Food was the same. Markets ran on a first-come basis. Convoys were inconsistent, and when something good came in, you…” I looked at my knuckles, “you fought for it. Everyone did. It wasn’t lawless. There were rules. Some people enforced those rules. But the rules didn’t cover everything, and the people enforcing them had their shortages, and sometimes it just came down to who was willing to bleed more.”

I looked at Dr. Fenn, my eyes burning. “It’s not what it looks like,” I said. Too fast. Too quiet. My voice thin and unsure. “I mean… it is. But it’s just the way it is. I chose to work. I chose to eat. These,” I lifted a hand, “were just the terms.”

He held my gaze, never flinching. “Thank you for telling me.”

I heard Ryn exhale deeply. Kara had shifted away from the wall, her tail lower than normal. Sia said nothing, but her ears were lower than usual.

I looked at my hands once more. Still trembling. I tried to breathe normally but came up short, and I realized I was feeling hot, my face burning, my jaw aching from the way I locked it. Tears threatened to well, but I don’t want that. I don’t want to look weak. Or pathetic. Tears meant fear or sadness, and people took advantage of that.

Kara took three steps towards me and stopped just in front of me. She didn’t say anything, but one of her paws grasped my left shoulder and squeezed. Not heavy or anchoring, just… there.

I exhaled.

The tears didn’t fall. They blurred my vision and say behind my eyes. After a moment, she lifted her paw and stepped back, a look in her eyes I’d never seen before. Shared pain.

Dr. Fenn studied his panel, giving me time.

I sighed, slouching a bit, “Okay.” My voice was rough.

“Okay.”

As we continued, a few specific questions came up. Dr. Fenn made notes. When I had broken my ribs, had my vision changed after the orbital fracture, and did my left leg give me trouble with exertion? I answered. The ribs were two separate incidents. Vision is fine. My leg ached on long or fast walks, which I’d tried to write off as an adjustment and hadn’t considered could be something else.

Dr. Fenn nodded once more, “I’d like to follow up on that tibia and the orbital. Not today. They’re old and have no acute concerns. But I want a more detailed look before we set your activity recommendations.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“Your nutrition is my immediate priority. Your injuries healed without proper support. Some of them look to have healed with more limitations than they would have, had you received proper care and nutrition.” He looked over my form. “That’s not your fault. That’s what I need you to hear. We can work on the function now, but the past is over.”

I nodded, my throat still a bit tight.

He handed me a printed copy. Went over supplemental recommendations, then passed them to Sia, who took them with a nod and almost certainly added them all to the mental checklist she kept. Vitamin D and many others. I know she’d be tracking it.

I slid off the table.

Kara stepped towards me, nodding to the paperwork, holding out a paw. I gave her the summary, and she folded it into a pocket, careful, in a way that she handled things she decided mattered.

Ryn exhaled. Not her typical bright noise. Quiet.

Kara smiled. “Ready?”

I looked at the display one last time, the amber points still pulsing against the outline of my skeleton.

“Yeah. I’m ready.”

“Let’s go.”

As she turned, I felt her tail brush me on the way past—a canid gesture that I was beginning to recognize as an attempt to comfort—I didn’t say anything about it.

The door slid shut behind us.

The corridor felt different now. I’m not sure why. Not physically. The same cool walls were there, the same light, same scent… the difference was me. I know that.

Kara was two steps ahead of me, her pace something I didn’t struggle with anymore. Her tail was neutral and still, her ears tracking noises that we passed.

Ryn was at my left shoulder. Steady, in a way that was different than her normal. Quiet.

Sia was at my back.

Our formation. It was the same as always. The same one they’d taken when the hyena had given me shit. Deliberate, worldless, and made before a conscious decision could override.

I thought about the amber light points. I hadn’t thought of them as damaged before. They were simply history. That distinction mattered to me in a way I struggle to put words to.

The waiting area had two lynx sharing a datapad. A brown bear snoozing in a chair, arms crossed. The two lynx looked up at me as we passed.

Outside, the main corridor had filled with the typical foot traffic. Students moving between lectures. Voices deeper than I was used to, even three days in, laced with undertones and animalistic noises I was still learning. The air was… warm.

A wolf—older than us, second or third year, I guess—glanced down at me and stopped walking. Her companion, a spotted hyena who was not the same as yesterday, still caused a small stutter in my pulse.

“Is that—”

“Dawn Flower,” the wolf nodded.

I’d heard it enough that it was losing its edge.

Kara’s tail flicked, and her ears angled toward them. Some kind of unspoken message that the other wolf responded to by looking forward and moving again.

“Does everyone know?” I asked.

“About you?” Ryn asked in return.

“Yeah.”

“Probably.” She paused. “News moves through packs fast. One person tells their pack, they tell their friends, the cycle continues.” She paused, “You were in the cafeteria. Two lectures. The corridors. So—”

“Yeah. I understand.”

She grinned. “Seems you aren’t so tiny after all.”

I snorted. “Yeah… but I bet you still could carry me under one arm.”

She yipped. “Wanna try?”

“Uh… no.”

Sia touched my right arm from behind. “Twenty minutes to the first lecture.”

“Right.”

I straightened. I had forgotten about it. The exam had taken up all the space in my mind. Second day of classes. Foundations of GAC Governance—the cougar professor who’d addressed me in front of the entire hall. Who paused at my answer, something I hadn’t expected.

Yesterday feels so far away from where I am right now, with an anthro chip in my wrist and amber points burned into my memory.

“Alright,” I said, “better pick up the pace.”

We moved out of the junction and retraced our route. The smell thinned until the memory thinned with it. The insertion site on my wrist was mildly numb, but I kept feeling it inside, somehow, someway.

Eventually, I know, this will all stop being… remarkable.

Maybe.

But not today. Not yet.

It didn’t take us too long to enter a large atrium at a junction in the hallways. The way the light cascaded down from above spoke to me in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I hadn’t been through this exact spot since day one. Since I’d stood on the university’s crest and tried not to scuff it with my shoes. Since the fox on the balcony had called me a Dawn Flower, and I’d flinched in response without really understanding why.

Dust turned in the air, fur, too—the strands of many hundreds of passing students moving through the space every day, every hour. Conversations drifted and overlapped in a way that vibrated in my chest when I walked near them.

I looked up. Couldn’t stop myself. It was only after a few seconds that I realized I’d stopped walking, and the others were watching me. My eyes found Ryn’s grin.

“You’re allowed to be in awe, tiny.”

“I wasn’t-”

“You were.”

I looked around at the scale of everything. The bodies. The architecture. Even the potted and hanging plants.

“I’m just… still getting used to the scale of it all. How massive everything is.”

Sia put a paw on my left shoulder and squeezed just enough that I felt her claws prick through my shirt.

Ryn shifted closer to me, her scent washing over me, “How massive everything is? Tiny, I have news for you. You’re just… you know. Tiny.”

“I’m completely average for a human.”

Ryn patted the top of my head twice with one of her paws, “Exactly! Tiny.”

We kept walking after that. I kept my eyes forward after that, for the most part. The geometry of our formation felt natural now. Heads turned. Ears tracked. I felt the collective notice, the shift in the air that happens when a room of people becomes aware of something unusual. Kara kept pace in front, Sia guarded our backs, and Ryn’s hip nudged into me just enough that it felt like a period at the end of a sentence instead of an exclamation point.

A group of students near the far corridor watched us approach; one of them, a dark-furred wolf with even darker eyes, said something to her packmates, and they rearranged, naturally creating a path through which we could pass as easily as water flows through the ravine it has traveled for hundreds of years.

After I felt we were out of earshot, I asked if it was a courtesy.

“Yes,” Ryn answered first.

“How can you be sure?”

“Their alpha didn’t stare as we passed through. That’s how you can tell.”

I absorbed her words and cataloged them for later. Just another subtle thing to watch for.

“People who mean well don’t usually stare,” Sia added, “They look once, then stop.”

“Okay.”

Blue banners came into sight as we rounded a corner, and the lecture hall was within reach. As we passed into it, I noticed it was more packed than the orientation day for class. I don’t know how much was because of curiosity at the human relic, or how many were just second-day arrivals. I’m not sure I want to know.

I sat on the bench between Ryn and Sia, with Kara taking position just above and behind us. Same row as before. My feet dangled, and I’m still trying not to care about it.

The room settled into respectable quiet as the professor entered. That same cougar—sleek, golden, moving like someone who had long stopped feeling the need to make herself look larger. She didn’t need to ask; she just commanded respect. I wonder if that’s because she’s technically the alpha of this setting, or if it’s because she’s the professor. Maybe both?

Her eyes found my own in seconds.

Not surprised, but different than the first time. Less, oh, a Dawn Flower,’ and more ‘the Dawn Flower is still here.’ She was recalibrating in her own way, much like I still am, but I’m not quite sure if it’s going to benefit me or become detrimental. She held the look for three seconds, then looked at her podium and tapped her datapad.

The lecture was dense, yet again. The same quality as last time. Primary sources, specific dates, policy, and the kind of material that assumed a base familiarity with GAC history that I had maybe half of what all the other students had. My enclave taught what it could, but the bias and lack of resources screamed to me now more than ever.

I wrote, small and tight, a slight upwards curve near the end of each line on the digital paper. My tablet emulated the sound of a pencil on paper because I had set it to do so. It reminded me of my journal. Besides me, Sia silently wrote her own notes, much more dense than my own, and Ryn didn’t seem to write much beyond the occasional word or sentence, which she would circle or underline.

For the first time in thirty minutes, my eyes left my notes. The professor stopped mid-sentence. She was looking at me again. The room, which had been in a steady rhythm, shifted. Not movement. Attention.

“Mr. Stone.”

I lowered my datapad.

“You lived in an Enclave your entire life.”

“Yes.”

“The GAC governance curriculum is taught in Enclaves. With modifications as far as I’m aware. Can you tell me what those modifications might mean?”

My pulse ticked in my neck. I thought about my teacher, the same one I’d had from the age of ten until just before I graduated. I thought of the old textbooks, some as old as the Dawn War. The bias of teachers and occasional speakers or guests.

“I…” my throat felt dry. I swallowed with difficulty. “The curriculum focused on the war and the formation of the GAC. Basic coalition structure. Enclave governance and independence. The framework of the treaty.”

She waited.

I looked down at my datapad at my various notes, and thought on the previous notes I’d taken as well. “What it doesn’t cover,” I said, “are the internal politics or policies of the GAC and its member nations. Pack-structure civic law. The legal basis for integration policy.” I paused, trying to avoid the hundreds of eyes. “We… have a general picture. Not much more.”

“Why do you think that is?”

My face warmed. I hope it doesn’t show. I know it is. Humans blush visibly.

“Because the specifics require the context of living inside anthro society. And because some of them involve active debates about human rights and independence that the GAC… probably doesn’t want to show in detail to the people being debated over.”

There was a collective noise in the room. The shift of attention.

The professor held my gaze.

“That’s a generous interpretation.”

“I have another one,” I said, “but it’s less… polite.”

Something passed her face, a small twitch of her whiskers, a flick of an ear. Not a smile, but something adjacent. She held it for a moment and then returned to the lecture.

Ryn pressed her shoulder into me, briefly, then pulled back before I could react. Kara’s paw squeezed my shoulder from above. Sia smiled at me, warm, genuine.

I went back to my datapad, my hands shaking a little, and began my notes once more.

The lecture ran its course, and the room dispersed shortly thereafter. I sat still on the bench while the aisle cleared around me, around my pack. My legs feel… a bit foreign from sitting for so long. Ryn hopped up and stretched, arms overhead, claws and fangs shamelessly on display, spine popping in a way that never brokered comment.

“You didn’t freeze.”

“I almost did.”

“Yeah… that doesn’t count.”

“It should.”

“My rules,” she smiled down at me, “doesn’t count.

Sia gathered herself, “Your voice held. The same as last time.”

“Barely.”

Kara stepped down between us, “It was a good answer.”

“Thank you.”

“I wanted to hear the less polite one.”

My face warmed again, and I smiled despite myself, “Maybe next time.”

I lowered my head to pack my datapad into my backpack, mostly to break eye contact.

“You two are doing a thing,” Ryn observed out loud, as usual.

“Kara… complimented me.”

“Yes. And you blushed.”

“Stop it, Ryn.”

Ryn clutched her chest with exaggerated motion, “Oh, but Sia, our alpha just complimented him, and his face turned colors, which is odd and cute in a way I can’t quite put a claw on, and I want to see it again. I’m not teasing!”

Kara chuffed as she passed. “Follow.”

We fell into formation, with Ryn nudging me, “I’m going to treasure your blushing forever, tiny.”

Kara’s tail gave a small flick, a canid gesture I was still learning, that meant she was amused.

We had forty minutes before the next class. The corridor filled, and packs dispersed, reformed, and headed in different directions. I focused on the proximity of the unobservant, shifting a bit to one side or the other to avoid a tail or elbow that my pack couldn’t block.

As we passed back into the hallways, I felt a familiar edge of fatigue creeping up on me, trying to catch up, a hollowness at the base of my ribs that wasn’t hunger, yet, but soon would be, and the edge of a burn in my leg where the break never properly healed.

“Let’s stop for a break,” Sia said.

I glanced back at her. “I was just thinking that.”

Kara was looking back as well, but her eyes weren’t on me. I followed her gaze down to my leg and the small limp that was there. I tried to force the muscles to compensate to hide it.

“Need a lift?”

I looked over at Ryn, expecting her typical grin or teasing gesture. Instead, I was met with warm eyes that contained no teasing or judgment. I clamped down on the instinct to offer a rebuttal to her joke, only for my brain to hammer in that she was serious.

“No.”

A simple nod was her answer. Thank you… thank you for not pushing that. I won’t say the words, but I know she knows.

“Your implant is running a passive read of your vitals until full sync with the packs. It’s only an occasional readout right now, set to show your heart rate, glucose… approximate.”

I looked over my shoulder at Sia. “What?”

She looked away from me. “I… I checked a few minutes ago.” She paused, then her eyes fell on me again. “I can turn off the live update feature if you want.”

I thought about it. I thought about what the doctor had said, about baseline vitals and stats for emergency personnel, the pack, and my alpha. About the edge of panic that would burn brighter in my mind than anything else had I thought of this same thing three days before. About the fact that my first thought was now, “Oh, that makes sense,” instead of, “what else are you watching?”

“Leave it on.”

The insides of her ears turned pink. Brief. Then gone.

“Okay.”

“Just… tell me when it notifies you of something important.”

“I will.”

Ryn was busy digging through her backpack. She came up with a smile and pushed a paw towards me, turning it over to reveal a compact bar wrapped in foil that looked like… something.

“Protein and vitamins,” she said, “the Sia-approved kind.”

“High-density,” Sia added. “It’s formulated for anthros, but it’s human compatible. Caloric density and the vitamins are what matter most right now.”

“I brought three,” Ryn nodded, “because I know my packmate would need it.”

She said ‘my packmate’ the way she said everything else. Light and without making a big deal out of it. An airy feeling started in the center of my chest before fading just as fast.

I took the bar, stopping as my hand met her much larger paw. I glanced at her claws, one of which was now touching my skin. I blinked twice, then lifted the bar from her paw and unwrapped it. It was… it has the consistency of the emergency ration bars the GAC convoys gave us in the Enclave. I bit into it; sweet but not overly so, and with an aftertaste of engineering that all artificial flavors seemed to have.

“Thank you,” I mumbled between bites.

Ryn waved her paw at me. “Sia did the work, and Kara put in the acquisition with HIP even before the appointment. I’m just the courier.”

I looked at the other two as we kept walking towards a break room. “Thank you both, as well.”

“You’re pack,” Kara was quick to reply.

Sia simply nodded in response, which I only just caught in my peripheral vision.

When we reached the break room, Kara filled a cup of water for me. Cold. Almost too cold. The kind of cold that would hurt sensitive teeth. I drank half before stopping to breathe.

“Better?” Sia asked.

I didn’t feel quite as tired, and the new pace Kara set today was a huge help.

“Yes.”

I sat on a bench, feet dangling as always. Ryn, instead of taking the spot next to me, sat on the floor in front of me. Cross-legged. Her head ended up around the level of my shoulders, which was the smallest I’d ever seen her.

I stared at her. She looked up at me through her eyelashes, the most deliberate attempt at an innocent expression I’ve ever seen. Even more than my little sister, when she’d steal my rare snacks and I caught her.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Why… why are you on the floor?”

“It’s comfy.”

“It’s a floor.”

“Floors are underrated, tiny.”

“…okay.”

She’d done it, so I didn’t have to look up at her. It clicked in my mind like a switch brings light to a room. She would never admit that, and I didn’t plan to make her. My chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with the implant, fatigue, or fear.

I took another bite of the bar and kept my eyes on it.

“You can ask,” I said eventually.

Her ears moved, and she didn’t look up immediately.

“About the bones,” I added.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were thinking about it.”

“I’m always thinking.” She tilted back, leaning on her paws, which she pushed out behind her like angled supports. There was no teasing smile. No smug smirk or lifting of the brows. Just Ryn.

“I know enough. You told us what happened.”

“It sounds worse than it was.”

Her ears shot down, then back up, almost as fast as I could register the movement. “You said that.”

“I know. I-” looked at the hand holding the protein bar, the way the two outer knuckles were slightly depressed from years of damage, “I keep wanting to justify it. Like saying it again and again would make it stop seeming like a lie that I keep telling myself, like-”

I stopped.

“Like what?”

“Like damage control.”

She nodded, her eyes not leaving my own. Sia scooted closer in from my left on the bench, and Kara stared down a pair of caracal women who had been listening until they left the break room.

“The math of… too many people and not enough. Not enough food. Or jobs. Or homes. Or…”

I tried to stop an involuntary shudder, only managing to stop enough of it that I felt I wouldn’t look like I was on the verge of a breakdown. Am I? I don’t know. Being here has made me realize I don’t know much. And it made me realize I know a great many other things, like hunger and fear.

I felt the brush of something hard and cold, then, finally, soft and warm, against my left hand, which I was using to support my weight and lean on the bench. I looked down at one of Sia’s paws, which had covered my hand. The warmth of her pads and fur soaked into my skin, helping ground me in the moment rather than the past.

“I grew up with the reality that we never would have enough. It wasn’t senseless violence. Not really. It was just people do what they had to do because somebody else would take what they needed if they didn’t.”

Ryn reached out with a paw and grabbed my hand that was crushing the remains of the protein bar, steadying the shake that had begun. “My interspecies relations coursework covers Enclave conditions around the world. The data of it all. Population density. Resource allocation. Infrastructure status. Education levels, literacy rates, mortality… all of it.” She paused and removed the ruined bar from my hand, then slid her paw back over the same hand. “It could never cover what it actually is.”

“No. It wouldn’t.”

“I know.”

Her voice had taken on a quality I’d only heard a handful of times. The one where she stopped being Ryn-the-playful and just… Ryn. I didn’t know what to do with it. Or myself.

Sia rubbed her thumb pad over my left hand's knuckles. “The tibia,” she paused. “The fractures. Do they bother you a lot? Pain?”

“The walking does. Yes. I thought I was just adjusting.”

Kara stepped forward. “Some of it may be. Some of it isn’t.” Her voice lowered, “Dr. Fenn wants a follow-up. I want to be there. We all do.”

“Okay.”

Her tail made two rapid arcs.

I’m not sure how much longer we sat before Kara opened her datapad and declared, “Eighteen minutes.”

“Yeah.”

She held out her paw, which I took, and we left the breakroom for the next class.

Restoration Ecology didn’t take long to reach. The raven professor. I remember her clearly from yesterday. The way she’d addressed me before I’d picked a seat. The way she’d warned the class to stay focused instead of letting their curiosity get the better of them over the Dawn Flower.

The hall was smaller than Foundations and felt brighter. The wall screens featured aerial photography and satellite imagery of reclamation zones; forests and rivers in various stages of recovery; and soil composition mapped in easily understood color gradients.

We took the same seats we had the day before.

The professor entered and took her place at her platform with the precise motion that seemed natural to all anthros. She opened her lecture material and lifted her head towards the class.

She found me. Like it seemed every anthro did.

“Second session of class,” she said, “we’ll move from biome identification and classification and into active analysis. What we can measure and how we can measure it. What those measurements mean and why we don’t have a stable or reliable baseline of the same areas to compare them to. Why we must keep that in mind when mapping out improvements over time and with the effort of restoration programs.”

She tapped a claw against her lectern, and the walls shifted. Forest imagery was replaced by topographic maps. Marked zones and gradients indicate varying levels of radiation, lead, and other foreign or hazardous materials in the environment, affecting local flora and fauna.

I opened my class app on my datapad and started my notes.

The lecture was fast. Faster than the other classes. She taught with a different method to the cougar, less philosophical and more practical and driven. She asked questions but didn’t wait long for answers. Her questions seemed to me to be checkpoints to catch up on notes rather than an invitation to start a discussion.

Until she pushed a claw against a map. “What’s missing from this?”

Several paws raised.

She waited. Her eyes moved over the room and stopped on me.

“Mr. Stone.”

The room shifted, just like the other had. My ears filled with heat, and my neck felt tight. Not pain or true discomfort, just an awareness of being observed by the eyes of many literal predators.

“I didn’t raise my hand.”

“I know.”

My shoulders slouched despite my effort to keep them high, “Okay. Well…”

My mind raced for something. I looked over the map for what must have been at least a solid minute until it clicked. “Human infrastructure.”

She didn’t react.

“The maps show the environment's natural recovery, but they don’t show what’s beneath it all. Roads. Foundations. Water table contamination from old factories and industry. Utility liners. If you’re mapping a zone to reclaim it, you’re mapping what has grown back. But what it grew over is still there, and that affects recovery and timeframes for recovery in ways a surface survey or scan can’t show.”

She was quiet, the feathers around what I’d approximate where her ears would be if she had some moved in response.

“Where did you learn that?”

“My Enclave. We were gifted a reclamation zone by an anthro corporation after their fourth failed attempt to cultivate the land. On the eastern boundary. The soil near there was… wrong. Plants didn’t grow properly. Not enough nutrients in the soil. Low root density. Turned out there was a buried chemical weapons stash from a long-destroyed weapons depot there that the original surveys had missed.” I sighed. “The GAC ran a gauntlet of new reports after my Enclaves discovery and ended up isolating the entire area in the end. They said it would be hazardous to human health if left in our hands.”

Her head tilted. “And, would it?”

I tried to stop a short burst of laughter. “Honestly? Yeah.”

The room made a sound. Not quite laughter, but something warm and close to it. A chuff from behind me. A flick of an ear or tail elsewhere.

“Very good, Mr. Stone.”

She returned to the lecture.

Kara whispered. “I’m proud of you.”

Those simple words hit hard. I swallowed my feelings and went back to my notes.

The lecture didn’t slow, but I wrote at a steady pace, only a few sentences behind. I noticed Sia was glancing at my handwriting; not in a way that suggested she was reading my notes, but simply watching how I formed my thoughts. I let her. If she wanted to better understand my mind, then she could have that information.

There were six other students with their paws up that the professor ignored. I’d noticed but didn’t know what to do with the information.

Both professors—the cougar and this raven—kept calling on me. Pausing at my answers and not in the way that anthros paused in the corridor when noticing me, where people saw something and didn’t quite know how to react. These pauses and observations screamed to me that they felt I was… useful.

Being useful is better than being looked at, and the distinction matters to me in… some way. I don’t know. Not yet. But it matters.

In my Enclave, being noticed was always a bad thing. It meant someone was assessing you as a risk and was best figuring out how to either take advantage, avoid, or disable you. Someone always wanted something. I taught myself to leave less-than-impressive impressions on people because it kept me safe. I looked at my hands and sighed. Safer… at least.

Give minimal information to your observers and appear as boring and unremarkable as possible. That was key to survival.

Here? I was the only person in the room who was truly different. That was remarkable in some way. My old habits and strategy failed, and I’m still fumbling my way through it all.

I don’t know if that’s better or worse. It just feels even right now. It feels heavy and not wrong. Progress, I guess.

The lecture was ninety minutes long, and I fixed six pages worth of notes in small, dense writing. When it was over, the room emptied with the energy of a group of people that had been bombarded with too much information, too fast. I closed my datapad and held it against my chest for a moment.

Ryn stood and stretched, her arms clearing the head of the student two rows ahead of us. She rolled her shoulders next and looked at me as if she were waiting for me to react or comment.

“Lunch,” Kara said.

My stomach, as if asked a question, responded to the announcement. Ryn’s ears flicked.

“Was that you… or the city?”

“I uh… me.”

“Impressive.”

“Ryn.”

“Sia, I’m complimenting him! My alpha complimented him earlier, and now I am too!”

“That’s not even close to the same.”

“It’s the same spirit, though.”

Kara didn’t respond, and Sia just chuffed as we turned for the exit and distant food.

With ten minutes of walking, the scent reached me. If it had hit me now, I would realize the others must have noticed it a long time ago. Meat. Rendered fat. Spices and herbs. My body moved on autopilot. Three days ago, I’d not have trusted myself if I had smelled this all from a distance. I would have second-guessed and figured I was dreaming.

“Same table,” Kara said as we reached the cafeteria.

Central and in view of everyone, but also offering a view of most of the other in return. It was a statement in its own way. We’re here. This is ours.

The food line moved faster than expected. Students brushed against each other with the casual intimacy and expectation of people who had been raised to be much more tactile than humans. Tails smacked. Shoulders touched. I stayed close to Ryn, her grin giving me comfort when she caught my eye.

“Still as bad as the first time?”

“It’s still a lot.”

“Yes. But less a lot.”

“Sure. Less a lot.”

She nodded. “See? That interspecies relations coursework is coming in handy. I’ve already got you figured out, tiny.”

I caught pieces of conversation as we moved through bodies.

“Did you see the defense tracks instructors-”

“The Dawn Flower in Apex-”

“That’s him, the human-”

Sia leaned down, her muzzle close enough to my ear that I could feel the warmth of her breath. “Don’t look at them. If you acknowledge their comments, then they know they work.”

“I won’t.”

Ryn’s tail bumped my side. “Good boy.”

My heart fluttered at the words. I would feel anger if a human had said that to me; it would have screamed condescending and asked for a fist in response. But with her…

I shook my head and swallowed. "Don’t call me that. Not in public.”

“Right, sorry. Good tiny.”

“That’s… not better, Ryn.”

“Good skinny.”

“Ryn.”

“Good flower?”

My face burned. She yipped a laugh and nudged me forward.

The moment we sat, Kara portioned my tray without a word. More than last time. The ratio was different. More protein. Sia’s paw in the selection distributed by Kara’s leadership. They’d been given my numbers not even a full day before, and those numbers were now staring at me from the plate.

I climbed in beside them, Ryn’s paw on my back, steadying me.

I looked around, trying to cast a casual glance at what was around me, and met as many eyes as last time. I looked back at my plate and began eating.

The burger was… rich. Almost too rich, though I suspect that’s because I’m still getting used to it. Real meat and non-insect-based protein or flour blends. The flavor—I was still adjusting to it. Not sure I’d ever get used to it. The bun was airy, and the cheese had the quality of fat and oils, with a taste my body recognized as important. I urged myself to eat more slowly than I wanted to.

“How is it?”

I looked up at Kara.

“Good.”

“I knew you’d appreciate it again. The burger seemed like a favorite from yesterday.”

She noticed. A sensation of weightlessness soared into my chest.

Ryn poked at my tray. “Less rabbit food this time, too.” She used a claw to poke a small portion of something leafy and green, sprinkled with weird, pale seeds. “Sia said that’s important. Still some rabbit food, I guess.”

Sia nodded. “Iron-rich.”

“Okay.” I tried the leafy food. Earthy. Bitter. Not great, but hardly the worst thing I’ve ever eaten. “Okay. It’ll work.”

“You’re iron-deficient.”

“I know.”

“You need to eat all of it.”

I sighed and grimaced as I forked in another mouthful, speaking around the food. “I will.”

Sia’s tail thumped the bench behind me as she returned to her tray.

Ryn snickered. “That was easy.”

“I’ve learned not to argue with Sia. She knows what she’s talking about.”

“Ah, sounds to me like you’ve been trained.”

“Don’t start.”

“Not starting anything, just observing.”

Kara’s ear flicked. I barely caught it.

Partway into the meal, I noticed I was eating at a pace I hadn’t been able to sustain yesterday. My stomach wasn’t in open revolt. I sat with that for a moment.

“Tiny?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m just,” I stopped to look at the tray. “I’m eating more than yesterday. I don’t feel sick.”

“Good.”

“It’s-”

“It’s normal. It’s good. Get used to it, tiny, because with us three? You’ll be plump soon enough!”

She used a claw to skewer a piece of steak and dropped it onto my plate, “Eat.”

I nodded and continued.

Eventually, as I neared my limit on food, a student stopped near the end of our table.

I’d noticed her before she spoke. She’d been glancing at me for several minutes, catching my eyes every time I dared to look around. She’s a red fox. Amber eyes. She has the posture of someone who second-guessed a decision but committed to it anyway.

She met my eyes, then looked at Kara, then back to me.

“I’m sorry. I just want to say that your answer in Foundations today, about the Enclave curriculum,” she paused. “I didn’t know that. About the modifications. About humans learning it differently than us.”

I lowered my fork, giving her my full attention.

“Most of us didn’t know,” she added, “we never really discussed it or thought about it, despite it being obvious that it must be different.”

I ran the calculation in my mind, without meaning to; what does she want? What is she setting me up for? I came up with nothing. She’s just a student who heard something new in a class and apparently appreciated the perspective.

“Makes sense that you didn’t realize it,” I answered. “No one taught you. No reason to, I guess.”

She was quiet for a few seconds. “That’s a polite way to put it.”

“I have a less generous answer, but you came over, and not a lot of others have. So.”

Her ears shifted forward towards me. Relief? I’m not sure.

“I’m Mika.”

“David.”

She glanced at Kara, then Ryn, and finally Sia. Acknowledgement. Then back to me. “If you ever want to talk about it. Enclave stuff… I’m doing a minor in Human Culture.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She bowed her head and walked back to her pack table a moment later.

Ryn leaned into me. “She’s been working up the courage to say that since the lecture.”

“I… kinda figured.”

“It was genuine. Not just curiosity.”

“How can you tell?”

She grinned and tapped her nose with a claw. “The nose never lies. And it doesn’t hurt that she has a minor in Human Culture. It’s known to be a tough minor that requires commitment. The coursework is… dense.” She paused. “I know. Trust me.”

I thought about her degree in interspecies relations. What she’d said about the data not actually revealing what my Enclave truly was.

“Yeah,” I nodded.

She held my gaze for a moment longer and then returned to her food.

We finished our lunch not long after. No rush. Nothing dragged or slowed. It was just functional, practical, and necessary. Nothing else. I need to keep telling myself that. This is normal. Feeling hungry all the time isn’t.

I ate more than I’d have chosen to because the others kept pushing small additional pieces of protein on my tray as I worked on what was there. The cafeteria, the voices, the eyes… they settled into a background. Just something there. The overwhelming sensory load from the day before: hundreds of predators eating, voices layered with canid, felid, and other undertones, laughter sharp enough to stab. It became ambient.

It was better today.

Then I looked up.

The hyena from before.

He wasn’t close, not really. Two tables away. He wasn’t watching us. He was still eating, talking with a packmate, the dark-furred one with the strange and tilted smile. But his ears were oriented directly at me. I knew he could hear us. He knew exactly where I was, and he was conscious of it.

Ryn put a paw on one of my forearms. “Tiny?”

“Yeah.”

“You okay?”

“He’s here.”

Her ears flattened, then lifted. Controlled. She didn’t look towards him.

“I know.”

Sia’s tail had gone still. Kara’s posture didn’t change, but her ears had lifted just enough for me to notice, a deliberate redirection of her attention that didn’t quite land on him.

“Ignore him.” Sia touched one of my hands over the table, “we’re here.”

He didn’t come near us. He didn’t even attempt an approach. He finished his meal a few minutes later and left the cafeteria at a distance that screamed, My distance from you has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with you.

Once he left my sight, I could feel the pulse lessen in my neck.

“Good,” Ryn said.

“Good?”

“He’s watching, but he’s not approaching. That’s better than before.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know, David. But we won’t wait for him.”

“What do you mean?”

Kara answered. “It means we keep doing what we’re doing. It means we watch him in return. It means we remain ready.”

“Okay.”

“It also means,” Ryn added, “that you shouldn’t be alone anywhere until we know how he’s going to handle this.”

“I didn’t plan on it.”

“Good.”

Sia set her fork down. “Kara.”

“Yes?”

“Peacekeeper liaison.”

“I'll send a message later.”

“Okay.”

I looked at Sia. “What… why?”

“We file a formal notice. The incident yesterday. It’ll go on record, and if he escalates, there will be a paper trail.”

I looked at Kara, who was tearing into her final piece of steak. Her ears were pointed at me, but her eyes were on her tray.

“I should be a part of that.”

“You will be. You’ll sign the statement. We file it together.”

“Thank you.”

Kara rose first, and I followed by sliding off the bench. Ryn caught my left elbow for the half-second it took my feet to hit the ground.

“Easy.”

“I’ve got it.”

“I know you do. I’m just here.”

We took formation as we left the cafeteria. Kara two steps ahead. Ryn at my shoulder. Sia behind. The hallways had settled into the rhythm of a day half over. Smaller groups. Students moving between classes.

Kara slowed without warning.

“David.”

“Yes?”

“You’re tired.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re tired.”

It wasn’t an argument. It was her reading of the available data and stating the conclusion.

“A little.”

“Left leg?”

“…yes.”

“We can slow down.”

“I can keep pace.”

“We will slow down.”

I knew I would never win this back-and-forth. “Okay.”

Ryn shifted without comment, her tail brushing my thigh once—a canid gesture I was beginning to read as comfort. We moved at a pace that reduced the pain in my leg and let me hide my limp better. I don’t know how to feel about it. I felt small at their pace. I feel even smaller now that they are at mine.

I…

It was to accommodate. I turned the word over in my mind several times. HIP accommodation. Did she slow down because she feels obligated by law… or because she cares?

Accommodation sounds cold. Clinical. Distant. The HIP paperwork says it. Dr. Vess said it. The stoat at the store muttered it. It feels like belonging to a catalog. Like a category.

Walking at three-quarters of my typical speed because my left leg had problems from old injuries, didn’t feel like being cataloged. It feels like being considered. Being noticed. Being… counted.

That was accommodation as well.

Same word with a different weight and context.

“Kara?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

She didn’t answer, but her tail swept over one of my legs as we walked.

The next class was a Pack Core seminar. My first one. Required of all students, regardless of year or program. Just like GAC Governance and Intro to Restoration.

It was in a smaller hallway, and the room was much smaller than even Intro to Restorations. Small was… well. It’s still larger than most homes in the Enclave.

We entered the room and chose seats together. They were smaller as well, but still left my feet off the ground. Smaller than other classes. Kara took the seat to my left, and Ryn dropped into the one to my right. Sia next to her.

The professor was waiting in front of the class. Smaller than most other anthros I’d seen, but not by much. He still towered over other humans and me. Maybe seven and a half feet. His fur was sandy and cream. His ears were tall, moving independently as he tracked students entering without using his eyes.

Without warning, he jumped down from his podium, and I felt the impact of his paws through my desk. “Good morning. I’m Dr. Tem. Welcome to my class. GAC Civic Structure. If you’re in the wrong room, you have about thirty seconds before I carry you out myself.”

No one moved.

“Excellent.” He stepped towards the front row of students and closer to us, “This class is not about the war. Nor the treaty. It’s about who decides what and who decides those who decide, and why that matters.”

His eyes found mine. Damn it. Here we go. I guess I should get used to this.

“Mr. Stone.”

“Yes?”

“You should know the foundations because of your Enclave education. Walk us up the ladder of governance. Pack to GAC. As you know it.”

Kara’s tail went still. Not tense, but… attentive. Every head tracked towards me, as if following a moving target that finally settled between my eyes.

“Packs are the base,” I answered. “Then pack-clusters, by building or block. Wards are above those. Districts over those. Beyond Districts are Civic Assembly’s, which then feed into Regional Coalitions. The GAC heads those regions.”

“And what is the unit between an Assembly and a Regional Coalition?”

“I… don’t know.”

“The Inter-City Compact. Your answer was acceptable.” He turned to Kara, “Ms. Vance.”

Her voice was steady. “Yes?”

“Where do human Enclaves sit in that ladder?”

Seconds passed. I turned my head to her, finding her eyes, which remained focused on the professor. She looked down at me. “Enclaves are subordinate to Regional Coalitions. Not nearby cities.”

“Why?”

“Because a city council has no jurisdiction over Enclaves. Only the GAC and its Regions do, as per the treaties.”

Dr. Tem nodded, and his ears flicked to me. “Mr. Stone. Was this true for your Enclave?”

“It was.”

“Did it feel relevant? That the distinction mattered?”

I thought about the GAC liaisons and aid convoys. About my anthro bosses' billed-by-the-hour level of patience at the factory I worked in when able. The maintenance crews who came in on loan to keep our generators and water systems running. The peacekeepers who silently watched us all.

“…No.”

“That’s a good answer.” He turned and walked through the room. “That is what this class is about. Pack to Compact to Coalition to GAC. Eight rungs on the ladder. We will learn them in order, starting with the most basic. Most of this, you all know or have lived with your entire life. You will still treat this class as serious as any other. We will not skip over topics that may be uncomfortable,” his eyes found mine for a moment, then moved away. “We won’t pretend there is true neutrality or separation of Enclave and GAC. There isn’t. Nothing built by people is ever simple or as it is written in law.”

Ryn’s tail brushed my right leg under the table.

As the class continued, Kara contributed twice more. A few others did as well. The professor would pause on an answer, offer a correction or response, then move on. I wrote the topic and the answers I heard.

Ryn’s digitigrade paw nudged my right leg, drawing my attention.

She whispered into my ear. “This professor and class are going to be fun. So. Much. Fun.”

Kara cleared her throat. “Ryn.”

“What?”

“Stop that and focus.”

Ryn stuck her tongue out at Kara, then smiled at me before returning to her own barely-written notes.

The professor—whom I knew definitely heard it because I was watching his ears—looked at us with nothing in his expression. Empty, but also screaming that he had heard it and was going to allow it exactly once.

I almost snorted a laugh, but caught myself and forced a small cough instead. Ryn’s tail swept my leg again in response.

The class was ninety minutes long, and when it ended, my hand was tired. I’d taken more notes in this class than in the previous two. It would feed into everything else. Some of my notes were my own private thoughts—appropriate to the topic—but things I wanted to ask, but didn’t feel had an appropriate time or place to ask. Yet.

We left the room, and the hall outside was filled with later-afternoon traffic, bodies, and packs moving between classes.

Ryn stretched. “I could use a snack.”

“You ate two hours ago, Ryn.”

“Yes, and it’s worn off, Sia. How else can I keep this form?”

Ryn nudged me, flashing a smile as her brows rose and her paws traveled her own form like she was putting herself up for sale on some kind of display at a storefront. Heat built in my face, and I looked away, towards Sia, who was watching me, gauging my reaction.

Sia smiled. “You ate three meals' worth of protein, Ryn, by my count.”

“I’m a growing coyote.”

“You stopped growing years ago.”

Ryn scoffed and put a paw on her left hip. “Spiritually, Sia. I’m still growing spiritually.”

“Spiritually,” I offered, “doesn’t need the support of metabolism.”

Her ears fell then snapped forward, and she leaned down towards me, bringing her smiling muzzle less than a foot from my face. My heart stammered, but somehow, I stopped my legs from retreating with the rest of my body.

“You. Don’t. Get to team up with her. I have one ally in this pack, and I will not lose them to the medical professional!”

“A-ally?”

“You. Obviously.” She poked my forehead with a finger pad, turning her paw in a way to prevent the claw from doing damage.

“And you owe me. Several times.”

“For what, exactly?”

“The protein bars. Emotional support during the chip. Threatening to beat up that hyena idiot. I’m your mentor! I’m your guide! I’m—”

She was still going when Kara chuffed at us and began walking again. We followed without question or word.

Ryn was still talking when we made a turn into a larger corridor.

I fought the smile forming on my face. “Okay, Ryn, you’ve made yo—”

I lurched into the nearby composite wall. The sound of my impact registered before the pain in my face did. My datapad flew from my grasp and skidded to a stop a distance away. My knees threatened to buckle, and I fell to a single knee, planting a fist on the floor to stop my fall.

I watched as drops of red splashed off the floor below me, a searing pain spreading across the right side of my face, just below the eye, and into my sinuses. I made a noise, though I’m not sure how I’d classify it.

I’m spinning. Shit. I’m spinning.

A pair of paws grabbed me, supporting my weight, lifting me.

“David!”

I heard Sia’s voice as she came into my view, her ears pinned and eyes wide. Behind her, Ryn had fallen silent, her ears also pinned, her eyes darting around my face, following the steady flow of heat trailing down my cheek and dripping to the floor below.

“David, can you hear me?”

I looked into Sia’s eyes and nodded.

“What… happened?”

It was then that the sound of growling drew my eyes away from Sia and towards Ryn, who was in the face of a larger wolf, her teeth snapping several times. “You idiot! Look at what you did!”

The wolf’s eyes followed her arm, then paw, then claw tip towards me. When his eyes met my own, his ears dropped.

“I… I didn’t see him!”

Ryn snapped, the sound of teeth like the crack of bricks being smashed together. “No shit! And you elbowed him in the face!”

Kara pushed herself between them. “You injured my packmate. My human.”

The other wolf’s packmates had their tails tucked and ears pinned. One of them, a coyote—not Ryn, barked. “It’s not our fault! Your Dawn Flower should have watched where he was walking!”

Ryn lunged. “You—”

Kara grabbed her by her backpack and pulled her back, then restrained her arms. “Ryn. Stand down.”

Ryn fought for a moment longer, struggling against Kara, before her ears pinned back again, and she lowered her muzzle to Kara.

Kara released her and turned on the other wolf, her teeth inches from his muzzle. “I expect you to apologize to my packmate, and I expect you to put your,” —her eyes wandered to the coyote that wasn’t Ryn— “runt in his place.”

Ah damn, that stings! I tried to flinch away from Sia’s paw pressing into the wound beneath my eye, still weeping blood.

I looked back at her as Kara, and the other pack’s alpha spoke.

Warmth from her pads and the pressure felt good once the initial sting of contact passed. “It looks superficial. Face and head wounds can bleed a lot despite relatively minor amounts of damage. Still, I want to check it as soon as I can to make sure nothing bad is going on underneath all that blood or swelling.”

I nodded as well as I could with a paw the size of my entire face covering one-half of it. Ryn pushed by Sia, her eyes searching the one that wasn’t covered.

“How bad?”

I blinked away a tear. “I’ll live.”

Movement behind us let me know Kara was turning towards me as well, the other pack already moving on, fast, the way a pack moves when it wasn’t welcome, and it knew it. Their alpha paused long enough to understand the weight of it all. Then he turned and left.

Kara raised her datapad. “Your heart rate and blood pressure are yellow. Cortisol spiked.” She lowered it, assessing Sia’s paw over the damaged half of my face. “Sia. Damage?”

“Appears superficial but substantial. Stitches are unlikely but not beyond possibility. We need to get him to a care suite and assess once I can clean the wound.”

My head throbbed along with their words. I couldn’t stop a groan. “What… happened?”

Ryn whined. “Are you confused?”

“What? No. I know I got hit. I just don’t understand how or why.”

Kara stepped forward, putting a paw on my shoulder. “That pack was late for a class and was in a hurry. Their alpha wasn’t diligent with time management, and that’s on him. There was no malice or intent to hurt anyone… simply the wrong place and the wrong time. His subordinate, however, was a shithead, and if you hadn’t needed my attention, I’d have throttled him or allowed Ryn to for suggesting it was your fault. He will be dealt with by their alpha. I was assured.”

Ryn growled, though it was obvious even to me that it was in response to the shithead. “You should have let me bite him. At least.”

“Ryn.”

Ryn lowered her head in response.

Sia put her other paw behind my back. “I’ve got you. Just lean on me. Kara. Medical.”

“Let’s move.”

Sia kept her paws on my face and back the whole way. Ryn put one of her own paws on my nearest arm to her, holding onto me as if I could float away. Her grip was firmer than Sia’s, but not painful. I leaned into them more than I would admit anytime soon. The edges of the halls felt soft. Not quite blurry. My legs were taking orders from my mind in a way that felt like I had a low frame rate in a game.

The care suite was two corridors away. I’d noted its location on the campus map built into my datapad on day one, but never really expected to need it. It opened into a wide alcove rather than a single closed room. A nurses' station, a small waiting room with chairs, and a partitioned section with curtains for privacy. A staff nurse was already standing from her seat behind the counter as we approached.

She was an arctic fox. White fur with an almost blue sheen beneath when the light caught it just right. Her name tag read ‘Jenna.’

“Pack C-17,” Kara said.

“Let me see him.” Jenna had crossed to me in a couple of steps. Her voice was neutral, which helped. No panic in a voice is good. “Sit him. Head back. Sia, maintain pressure.”

“Holding.”

“Good. David? Talk to me.”

“I’m here.” I chuckled, grunting at the surge of pain as my facial muscles contracted.

“Pain on a scale of ten?”

“Seven.”

“Throbbing, dull, or steady?”

“Searing with a throb.”

“Can you see out of the eye?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged my shoulder. “Sia’s paw.”

Jenna looked up at Sia, “Crack your fingers to allow some light in. David, how about now? I need you to open that eye.”

Pain surged through me. “Yes. I can see the light.”

“Light sensitivity, ringing, nausea?”

“Nausea. Mild.”

“Acceptable.”

She moved with the same method and precision as Sia often did. The same… lack of waste to her movement. Everything calculated. She rolled over a tray with several instruments and supplies. She opened a pouch of saline solution. “Sia. Move on three. One. Two. Three.”

Sia lifted her paw, and the coagulated blood acting as a bandage pulled away with her, a fresh flow of blood warming my face again. The cool air was the worst part of it all since the walk here began. I made the noise again. The one I couldn’t classify.

“I know,” Jenna cooed. “Hold still for me.”

The saline ran through the jagged wound and down my face, trailing along my jaw and onto the towel she’d stuffed into my shirt collar a moment before. I closed my eyes, then opened them again because closing them made me feel like I was spinning again.

Ryn stood next to me, her paw still on my arm. Her eyes were steady, but her ears were still half-pinned. She was making herself something I could focus on beyond the pain. I understood that without words.

“Thanks,” I said to her.

“I should have been on the inside lane.”

“Ryn—”

Her eyes flicked to Kara. “Later.” Her tail stilled. “Please.”

Jenna finished passing her datapad over my face, one different from the others I’d seen. “No fracture. No depression. The laceration is clean, five centimeters in the infraorbital region. I’ll close it with adhesive strips rather than sutures. It’ll scar.”

“Okay.”

“You’re going to be sore. I wouldn’t be surprised if this swelling closes your eye overnight.” She opened a pack of strips, setting them in line on her tray. “Sia will manage the dressing changes for the next forty-eight hours. After that? We’ll see.”

“Okay.”

“Hold still.”

The strips were applied. Pressure from her finger pads. Release. The return of pressure. Another release. Sia hovered next to me, watching the application with the focus she had on everything. Ryn still held onto me, a fixed point. Kara was near as well, signing off forms on a datapad.

Jenna stepped back after covering the site with an adhesive gauze pad and looked at the spot for a beat. “You’ll be okay.”

“Okay.”

She turned to my pack. “Quiet evening. Make sure he hydrates well. No screentime for a few hours, then short sessions. A distant wall screen should be fine as long as the room is bright. If anything changes—vision, balance, worsening of pain, bleeding—you bring him back.”

“I understand,” Kara said.

“I recommend close contact. He’ll sleep better.”

I felt my face warm even more than it already had been. Warmer than the blood had been.

“Understood,” Kara said again.

Jenna gave Sia a kit of sterile strips, antiseptics, dressings, instructions, and simple painkillers. She tucked it under her arm without a word. I know she must have memorized a protocol for all this long before. She was always prepared.

“Nurse?”

She turned to me.

“Thank you.”

A smile. Fangs. “You’re welcome, Dawn Flower.”

Dawn Flower. Does she mean I’m fragile… or resilient? Maybe both? A question for later. Right now, my head hurts like hell.

I tested my legs. They held. The spinning had calmed into something more akin to a heavy fatigue behind my eyes. Sia’s paw was at my back, and Ryn’s paw on my arm kept me steady.

“Easy.”

“I’ve got it.”

“You have me,” Sia said. “Different.”

Kara was at the exit, scanning the hall before gesturing towards us. Ryn’s paw slid down my arm, then lifted it at the wrist until it slipped further down, her fingers pressing between my own. I looked down, my hand dwarfed by her paw. I looked up at her face, but she was focused on what was ahead. Ears forward.

She leaned towards me, pressing her muzzle against the top of my head for two blinks. A warm pressure that disappeared as fast as it appeared. I looked up at her again.

“Pack thing. I’ll explain later.”

“Okay.”

We moved down the less-populated corridor. The rush we’d been caught in was well over. I noticed, at some point, that I’d been counting things as we passed. Junctions. Students. Doors. The same tracking process that I used in the Enclave. The process I had finally… kind of switched off for a few moments. Now back. Strong as ever.

We turned into the residential halls. The light shifted from cool to warm. By the time we reached our pack-dorm, my pulse was near baseline, and my hands had stopped trembling.

I followed Kara in, with Ryn and Sia. My shoulders fell. I’m not sure how long I’d kept them up. Ready. Ryn dropped her bag at the door, and Sia hung hers on a hook, her second paw finally leaving my back. Ryn didn’t let go. Kara hung hers as well, then glanced around the room.

“Shoulder.”

“What?”

“You slammed into that wall before falling.”

I thought back on the event. I… I don’t remember that.

“I did?”

“Yes. Sia.”

“On it.”

Sia steered Ryn and me into the kitchen and sat me on a stool. She grabbed my shirt but paused when my body flinched.

Her ears fell. “David, I promise it’ll be okay. We’d never hurt you.”

“I know.” I sighed. “I know. Just… I… I’m still getting used to this. All of it. Pack. Trusting.”

Warmth and pressure pressed into the top of my head once more. I felt Ryn’s voice before I heard it. “You can trust us.”

“I know.”

“Then let Sia do her job.”

“…okay.”

I looked at Sia and nodded once. She lifted my shirt, pressing a paw into my ribs and shoulder. My body pulled away when the pressure hit my shoulder before my mind could. I hissed.

“Tender?”

“Yeah. Not deep, though.”

She considered the site for a moment, looking at something I couldn’t see from this angle. She lifted my arm. “Is your range of motion okay?”

I moved my arm in a circle. “Yes.”

She nodded. “Anti-inflammatory ointment before bed. Pain killers if you need. Cold pack for now. Thirty minutes.”

“Okay.”

“In the morning, I’ll check it again. Okay?”

I looked into her eyes. They’re soft. Warm. Something behind them felt… it felt right. It felt like belonging.

“Yeah. That’s okay.”

I felt the rumble of Ryn’s voice again. “Good boy.”

My face warmed again. Sia smiled when she noticed my blushing, her tail arcing softly behind her.

She stepped away and returned a few moments later with a chemical ice pack wrapped in a cloth. It took it and held it to my shoulder when Ryn released my hand. The cold stung for only a second, then cut through the ache.

“Don’t move. I’ll start dinner.” Sia said.

“But Kara cooks dinner.”

Sia looked at Ryn, then me. “She’s busy. We’ve got it.”

I looked over at the common room. Kara was sitting on the couch, elbows pressed into her knees, her paws loose, fingers wide. She didn’t look like she was doing anything. Just… sitting. It took only a moment for my mind to grasp something.

That’s exactly what she’s doing. Nothing. And I suspect, for a reason I can’t yet completely grasp, but I know is related to being pack, that she is doing that for the sake of that other alpha and his pack.

Ryn ruffled my hair. “Stay.”

She grabbed her bag, removed her datapad from it, hung it, then dropped onto the floor near Kara. She lifted her datapad as if she were reading, but even I could see she was watching Kara with an expression I’d never seen before.

I'd better not say anything. Not because I think they’d lash out at me, but… something is being spoken here that I’m not coded to know as a human. Not yet, at least.

The noise of Sia opening and closing drawers and the fridge caught my attention. Sia started portioning protein after washing her paws of my dried blood. Kara entered my vision. I never heard her get up. She approached Sia, and without a word, Sia gave her a knife and took over a different task. They worked in the silent rhythm of a team that had done this many times before.

I watched them. The motions that didn’t waste energy. The ease with which they cut, portioned, seasoned, and assisted one another with the flick of the tail or ear, or a twitch of the muzzle. It was… I’m beginning to understand why anthros run the world now if they can communicate like this without a single word. As if they were a single entity.

The room had settled into a quiet that felt good. Peaceful. Ryn put on something soft and instrumental. The dorm filled with sound that wasn’t needless action, conversation, or even my pulse. Just purpose and music.

I let myself relax more beneath the ice. I looked up at the vaulted ceiling and counted my breaths. The day is almost over. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.

I closed my eyes and just felt. Mom. Lena… my people. Does she hate me? Is she still angry? Is three days enough for her to settle? I should call. Or message. Or…

“David.”

I looked up at Kara. “Yeah?”

“Tomorrow at nine forty-five. Peacekeeper liaison’s office.”

“For—”

“The hyena. And today.”

“The accident?”

She nodded. “I didn’t ask the alpha's name or their pack designation. It’s just to document your injury beyond school medical.”

“Okay.”

“You sign it. I sign it. Sia will sign as a witness. Ryn will draft the language of the complaint.”

“Ryn?”

“My coursework,” Ryn said from her spot near the couch. “I know just what to say for it.”

“That makes sense.”

“I’m not just a pretty face, tiny.”

“Never said you were.”

“You implied it.”

“I didn’t.”

“Yep. Without words.”

I snorted, which hurt like hell. “Ah, dammit. And no. I didn’t.”

“Ryn.”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it, Sia. Stop teasing him.”

“Actually… I was going to say he didn’t deny you having a pretty face.”

I coughed. “So, how’s dinner coming along?”

Ryn yipped with laughter. Sia and Kara’s bark-like laughs joined her. Despite trying to maintain an air of being offended, I couldn’t stop the laugh that hurt like a bitch.

“Ryn.”

“Yes, alpha?”

“Stop teasing him. At least until after dinner.”

Ryn grinned and returned to her datapad.

Sia pressed her shoulder into Kara’s. Brief. Over nearly as fast as it happened. Kara’s tail flicked once, and Sia grinned at her cutting board.

I held the pack to my shoulder and thought about how they communicated through gestures and small movements. I suspect I’ll still be learning to read their subtle language for quite some time.

I closed my eyes. I need to message them. I need to hear mom’s voice. To tell them that I’m okay. That anthros may not be human, but they aren’t bad.

“Tiny.”

I looked over to Ryn, who was now only a few feet from me. I hadn’t heard her move either.

“Yes?”

“How are you doing?”

“Shoulder’s okay. Face hurts, but all things considered, not that bad.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I looked into her eyes.

“How are you doing? Really?”

I thought about it. The pack assignment. Being filed and categorized. Being stared at and called on. The medical wing and the amber points. The chip in my wrist. Mika at lunch. The hyena. The wolf and my eye. I often felt a pulse in my own neck at physical contact with my packmates.

“I… don’t know.”

“Okay.”

“Sorry. Is that—”

“That’s an answer. The real one.”

“How would you know?”

“The nose doesn’t lie.”

“I’m just… tired.”

“We can see it.”

“Tired in a way that is different than before. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Being tired in the Enclave is… the noise. The cold. The things you track constantly. Number sheets on how to ration your food for the week. Who gets more calories based on who got more jobs for the family that week. It almost gets to the point where it’s so routine that you just… don’t notice it anymore.” I pressed the cold pack to a new spot. “This all? It’s different. A lot of new information. A new way to see things. It’s a lot to process.”

“And is it better, or worse?”

“I… don’t know. Yet.”

She nodded once.

“You did well today.”

I snorted a short laugh. “And what did I do?”

“You answered the professors. You ate. You stood at the junction and didn’t fall.” She paused and looked over my face. “You let us help. Was it hard?”

“Was what hard?”

“Letting us help you.”

“Yes.”

“Hm.”

“Ryn?”

“Yeah?”

“Earlier. And again in here. You put your muzzle on my head.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“You said you’d explain.”

“I will.”

“So?”

“But not yet—after dinner. Not when I’m hungry. I get hangry.”

“Okay.”

Her tail slid over my side as she turned away.

“Ryn, can you grab my journal?”

“Sure.”

It didn’t take but a few moments for her to return with it and my pencil. I opened it to a fresh page. She returned to the couch, datapad open. She was reading something, ears tracking the occasional sound from the kitchen.

I wrote.

The wolf didn’t see me. Wrong place and wrong time, Kara said. He didn’t mean it. It still occurred. We solve it together… as a pack. I’m still trying to work out what that means.

I keep trying to figure out what the difference is between being cared for and being managed or controlled. I don’t know if there is a difference in this society. I think… to a pack, they might be the same thing. The problem is, I was raised to see management as the prelude to something being taken from you.

I don’t think that’s what this is. I think I’m running on old expectations and reading things wrong. The question is, how do I correct it? And how long does it take?

I stopped. My pencil hovering. I closed my journal against my chest. My shoulder ached, but it was manageable. Sia’s voice was almost distant, speaking to Kara about the temperature of protein.

I closed my eyes.

Sia sat down beside me a few minutes later. Then Kara and Ryn. A plate was lowered in front of me, and without much ceremony or talk, we finished in record time.

Ryn held out a paw. “Come.”

I looked at her claws and chose to grab anyway. She led me to the couch, pulled me in, and sat beside me. Sia joined on my other side, the cushions giving under their weight. Kara sat close as well. Sia held a small tube in a paw. “I need to apply this.”

“Anti-inflammatory?”

She nodded.

“Okay.”

Her paws lifted my shirt. They were gentle. Soft. Warm. She worked the topical into my shoulder with her finger pads, working in cooling circles that soon warmed. It smelled of mint. After a minute, she was done.

“Better?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

She didn’t pull back. Ryn shifted on my left, making herself more comfortable. Sia lowered my shirt, but pressed the flat of her paw into my shoulder, gently.

“David.”

“Yes?”

“Can I tell you something?”

My pulse ticked upwards.

“…yes.”

“It’s about your Enclave. Some of it. The other part is about me.” She paused, searching the air above us. “If you don’t want to hear… tell me.”

“Okay.”

She took a breath, her shoulders rising and then falling with it. “GAC infrastructure reports for Enclaves are public data. I’ve read some before. In our region. That includes your Enclave. Before you arrived.”

She gauged my reaction. Then continued. “Your Enclave was rated as… needing significant investment years ago. The budget had been approved. Allocation never happened. The most recent update was eight months ago. It’s still pending.”

The warmth of her paw worked into my muscle. “The per-capita caloric allocation standard for your Enclave? It… meets the GAC minimum. That minimum was set forty years ago. It… hasn’t been updated for the current population.”

A pulse rocked my mind. The room seemed to tilt.

“Your injuries,” she said. Quiet. “Your weight. The deficiencies. None of it is your fault.”

My throat feels tight. I looked at the floor and took a breath. It came short. I forced it in further.

“I just… I thought it was just math. I thought that’s what poverty was. Math.”

“Some of it is.”

“Yeah…”

“Some of it is people… neglecting to update a form.”

“My mother. She fed us. She tried.”

I pressed my palms to the top of my head. “Can we tell someone?”

“I have. Several times.”

“Why… why are you telling me this?”

“Because I think you carry this weight on your shoulders as if it’s your fault. Your injuries, hunger… and not just yours, but your mom's and your sisters' too. Maybe even your people. I think you carry it as something you feel you have to manage alone.”

“…maybe.”

“It’s not. It’s a system, and it’s a system that failed you.”

She removed her paw from my shoulder.

“We won’t fail you.”

I shuddered, tears trailing before I could stop the thoughts from forming that maybe it isn’t our fault. That maybe… it can change.

“We need a snack. Crying drops blood sugar.”

I laughed. “There it is.”

“What?”

“The Sia thing.”

“That’s not clinical. It’s practical.”

I turned to her, wiping the left side of my face. “It’s you. Thank you.”

Her ears turned pink at the base of their insides. “You’re welcome.”

Ryn put a paw on my left knee. I looked down at it. The claws.

She saw me watching.

“They bother you less.”

“A little less.”

She tilted her head and looked at her paw. She turned it over and flexed her fingers. “They’re just paws. And fingers that happen to have claws. They happen to be good at opening packages and scratching itches.”

“And cutting meat.”

“And that.” She flipped it back over.

I reached down with my left hand, putting it on top. The fur was soft. Warm. She went still. Not tense or… expecting. Just waiting.

I turned her paw over. The pads were soft. Warm. A scar ran across the large pad in the center of her palm.

“You have a scar.”

“Yeah. Field work in secondary school.” Her voice was soft. “Broken glass from a pre-war site. I was digging without looking.”

“Digging for what?”

“It kind of looked like a business sign. Wasn’t. Authorized personnel only.”

I laughed before I could stop myself. Surprised. It came out anyway.

She smiled. Slow. Fangless. Real.

“I’ve been thinking about locked and forgotten places for a long time.” She was quiet. “Since I was a pup. Places we’re not supposed to go. Places no one has been for a long time. I… I just wanted to know what their lives were like. How different it all was.”

“And you keep thinking about it?”

“Yeah. I picked my program because of it. Because humans… are interesting to me. Your history. Our history together. Where it went wrong. How can we fix it? Things like that”

“And… why don’t you ask me about the Enclave?”

“Because I don’t want to reach in and find out it’s more than just history to you. You’ve lived it. It hurts you.”

I looked down at her paw and my hand. I had closed my fingers around hers without thinking.

“Thank you. For telling me.”

“Thank you for asking.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes before Kara cleared her throat. “Who gets movie choice tonight?”

Sia’s ears popped up. “My night!”

Kara typed on her datapad, and the wall screen lit up. A title appeared; a movie I didn’t know. Anthro-made. “Your last movie choice that we never had the chance to watch.”

“What’s it about?” I asked.

“Two restoration scientists,” Sia answered. “Mixed-species pack. They survey a coastline that hasn’t been touched since the war. They end up trapped inside an old human ruin and have to overcome their differences to survive.”

Ryn yipped, “It’s slow. Sia likes slow.”

“I like deliberate and thoughtful.”

“Same thing.”

“Different.”

“Same.”

Sia’s tail flicked, then landed on my shin. I’m okay with that.

The opening to the movie was a slow pan over a coastline. Pale water and dark rocks in long, jagged formations. No music. Just… wind. The camera held the shot much longer than I expected. After a minute before the first camera cut or scene shift, I glance over at Ryn, who grinned and shrugged, mouthing the words told ya.

Ryn shifted then, her arm finding its way off the back of the couch until it rested along my shoulders. Careful. The weight was… substantial. Dense muscle belonging to an apex predator. But she’d been careful, and it wasn’t an anchor, more of a suggestion. I could move if I needed.

I…

I don’t want to.

Sia moved next. Her tail pressed more into my legs, almost curling over them on the couch. She didn’t say anything, her eyes locked on the screen.

I took a breath.

Thirty minutes into the movie, the scientists were arguing over sample counts. It was careful, quiet, deliberate. The kind of disagreement only two people who’d known each other for a long time could have, and know what buttons to press and what was too far.

Sia whispered, “That’s you and Ryn.”

“What? Really?”

She nodded. “Just an observation.”

Kara chuffed from her end. “I was thinking you and Sia, actually.”

“Kara.”

“Truth.”

Ryn yipped a small laugh. I felt it through my ribs. I kept my eyes on the screen, and only just noticed I was smiling. They hadn’t called attention to it. I know they see it.

A few minutes later, Ryn shifted again. Her arm curled in. Not pulling me, but… closing. My side pressed into hers. She was warm. So very warm. I let myself relax into her, which took a few breaths, and the reminder in my mind that I was safe.

She didn’t look down. Didn’t say anything. The side of her muzzle came to rest on the top of my head. I didn’t say anything.

Sia lifted her footpaws onto the couch, shifted herself, the outside of her left arm coming to rest against my right arm. I was between them. Held.

As the movie continued, the scientists did what scientists did in slow movies. Measuring. Talking. More measuring. Recalling older measurements.

What truly held my attention was the warmth of two predators pressed against either side of me in their own way.

But even more than that... I’m tired. My eyes are heavy. The cushion is deep, and somewhere in the second hour of the movie, I stopped paying attention to it and just felt content being here. With my pack.

Kara’s voice almost startled me.

“David.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re falling asleep.”

“…maybe.”

“That’s okay.”

“Okay.”

I closed my eyes.

I don’t remember the film ending. I remember Ryn’s voice, the vibration against my head as she spoke. “We’ve got you.”

“Bed.”

“Here’s already there, alpha.”

Kara huffed a small laugh. I stirred at Sia and Ryn’s movements. My limbs were still heavy from sleep, somewhere in twilight between living and not quite.

“Easy,” Ryn said, sliding her arm to my back. “I’ve got you.”

She lifted me. No effort. The same casual ease she used with everything else. She steered towards the bedroom, her paws and body warm against my own.

By the time we hit the den-bed, Ryn was already in her spot. Kara was too, her chest to my side. Sia laid just above us, curling into her usual ball. Her tail lowered itself around my face and neck; a living scarf.

This was the same as the last night.

What’s different is what I did with it.

I turned onto my good shoulder, pressing my back into Kara’s chest. She went still for a beat of the heart. The pause to understand something new. Something unexpected. Then she adjusted, putting her arm over my chest and pulling me in.

I reached down to Ryn’s nearest paw and pulled at it. I hoped I wouldn’t need to use words. I’m not sure I can. Not yet. She shifted closer, turning on her side, her muzzle only inches from my face, a paw finding the side of my stomach.

I reached up to Sia and pet her tail, which curled further around my head in response, wrapping me in warmth. The fur was fine and soft, but not quite ticklish against the sensitive skin of my neck or face.

I waited for… something. Something to happen that was too much or… I don’t know.

It never came.

I exhaled.

“Breathe.”

Sia’s tail twitched once.

I closed my eyes.

I thought of this day. The chip. The amber points. Mika. The injury. Ryn’s scar. The couch. The movie.

The Enclave word for this is "debt". Someone is doing something for you, and you will owe them. Count what you receive so you know the actual cost of the collection.

I… don’t think that’s the word for here.

Kara’s chest rose and fell against my back. Ryn’s paw rested warm on my side, her muzzle only inches from my face. Sia’s tail moved with her breathing on occasion. A rise. A fall. Gentle. Slow.

Three days.

And for the first time…

I realize I’m not alone.