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That sleepless night dragged on. Hour after hour, Kali waited at her desk, toying with the few loose beads for a while, her tail itching with a nervous energy. Constantly she checked over her shoulder, whipping her muzzle over towards her dimly lit window and the faint music outside. Again and again, checking without success. Eventually, she abandoned the beads and desk for her hammock instead–a better vantage point from which to peer outside. Her eyes were glued to the glass pane. Both ears pricked. Attentive.

She watched for the slightest movement, listened for the lightest tap. Anything. Anything at all.

Until, eventually, Kali fell asleep, and only the rosy rays of sunset greeted her when she woke with a start. Light alone, and no cute colorpoint outside her house.

A slight annoyance, though Kali wasn’t so surprised when she finally lifted her whiskers off her pillow. After all, Mikora wouldn’t let her step one toe outside after what happened on the ship. Fussing over her hands all night, bandaging and re-bandaging them before bed, and yet more crying. It wasn’t until Kali locked herself in her room that she finally had a moment to sit and breathe. Even then, Mikora sobbed outside the door for a while before she finally slunk back to her bedroom.

Rinzaan? With his repertoire of guards? He doubtless didn’t have a chance to leave. Not without getting caught and questioned. With Kali’s not-exactly-great pedigree, he couldn’t tell them he needed to skip down the lift to the seedy Benz to see her, either.

A visit on that first night back was a slim chance. One she rather hoped would work out, but she couldn’t be too peeved. Rinzaan took a few days for that first visit, and that took place under far better circumstances.

But on the second night, Kali was certain he would visit her. So certain, she ate dinner as fast as she could, rushed Mikora through replacing her bandages, and ran back upstairs. Even then, she could hardly sit at her desk and work on any of her beadwork. Every minute or two, she would drop what she was doing and check the window and listen. Only ever hearing distant songs outside or the occasional passing voices.

Then, once the streets outside started to lighten, she climbed into bed and waited there yet again. Waited, fell asleep, and woke up at sunrise once more. Her window silent and the street below empty, save for the few stragglers that either hurried or stumbled their way home.

Another night passed with no sign of Rinzaan.

Then another, and another, over and over, this ritual repeated. Kali didn’t even ask about going outside–even once Mikora’s unnecessary fears had abated. The tears had dried quickly, as they tended to in the desert. There was no more fretting about Kali’s brush with death incarnate. Mikora even returned to her usual gigs rather than lurking at home, as she had for a few days. Guarding Kali as if the famed Touzimi might somehow show up on their doorstep and still snap Kali up.

The house was empty, which, usually, was a perfect time to sneak out. Visit some of the busier, seedier streets for a few dances and maybe swipe a drink or two from a friendly tom–or steal it from an unfriendly one, if they didn’t watch where they set their bottle.

But Kali stayed where she was. Hardly trapped, as she was before, but still she waited by her window. Dead set on her stoic watch every night and every dawn until she fell asleep. Expecting, at any second, to hear the telltale taps on her window.

And one time she did. Just when her eyes started to say shut, a quick rap outside snapped her awake. She raced outside, overjoyed at first, but left perplexed by the empty street. Another rap twisted her ear, and she only found a gull cracking open a clam on their roof. Confirmed by another rap when the gull smacked its clam against the roof again.

Certainly not a cute tom on her doorstep. Only a fleeting false hope, revealed to be nothing more than a fat, greasy bird. A feathered pest, which Kali pelted with a few choice rocks until it finally spread its wings and flapped away to bother some other unfortunate cat.

Each night, each morning, continued dragging on. Until a full week had passed, hearing nothing but the occasional gull outside. And, by the second week, Kali neared ready to claw off her eyes and ears, driven by sheer boredom and frustration.

Again, she had dinner. Again, Mikora fiddled with her bandages. And, again, Kali went upstairs, slammed the door, and dropped across her bed and watched the murky window. Tail lashing at every second that passed.

Nothing. No rocks clicking on the roof or window pane–not even the gulls bothered now. No letters or notes. Though they hardly got anything other than bills with bright red numbers from their landlord, anyway.

Just nothing and more nothing, and that’s all she had to look forward to for two more weeks, while the Sandstalker finished its repairs. That and the itchy feeling in her bandaged fingertips, which she idly kneaded against the side of her hammock. The bandages were less a necessity, since the bleeding had long since stopped, and were only a nuisance while her claws finished growing back in. Like the mittens Mikora put on her when she was a kitten, when she had fleas and wouldn’t stop trying to scratch even after the terrible bath.

But, even with her temporary jailor absent, she stayed home and waited, regardless. Stared at her window with a mounting frustration that curdled in her throat. A sour growl that steadily built until she shoved her nose into her pillow and let it out.

A growl that quickly turned into a pitched, furious shriek.

A desperate, muffled cry that didn’t go unanswered. Though Kali was particularly thrilled when two taps arrived on her door instead of her window.

“Kals?”

Mikora’s soft, cautious inquiry reached Kali even through her folded ears and continued growling. Softer growls, now that they weren’t going unnoticed, rumbling in her chest and ears alone.

She didn’t pull her face out of her pillow. She stayed there, tail lashing left and right, ears flat, and waited for Mikora to leave so she could finish venting her frustration in peace. One night, she tossed one of her carving knives at the wall. Another, she slammed her bedroom door harder than she should have. Little things Mikora might’ve ignored, if she hadn’t watched Kali like a starving gull since the moment they got back.

This time, Mikora didn’t leave. Kali flipped up an ear at the tired squeak from the door’s hinges, but she kept her muzzle firmly planted where it was. She wasn’t going to look. Then Mikora would only fuss over her more.

“I’m fine,” Kali mumbled into her pillow. “It’s fine. Everything is fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Kali nodded–or performed something that vaguely resembled a nod. Though, to be certain, she tossed up her tail with a falsely chipper wave.

But she didn’t hear Mikora’s paw pads gently tap against the floor, or the repeated squeak of the bedroom door. Apparently, a half-hearted wave of her tail wasn’t convincing enough to get Mikora to leave.

“Are you going to change clothes?” Mikora asked.

Kali huffed. “Later.”

“Today?”

“Sure.”

A silence fell on Kali’s ears. The weighty sort of silence, where Mikora expected her to leap out of bed and start doing whatever chore was asked. But Kali didn’t budge from where she was. Her muzzle stayed firmly planted in her pillow, her whiskers mashed against her cheeks.

Mikora didn’t budge, either. She looked in the doorway, without a move, without a word, without even a creak from the old door hinges. The only way Kali knew she was still there was the prickling sensation in Kali’s fur. That chilling itch whenever someone stared at her–like when Mikora expected something from her.

They were locked in a strange stalemate, where Kali couldn’t be bothered to pick up her muzzle just to shoo Mikora out. Because, in a way, that would be admitting the same sort of defeat. So the silence lingered, only broken by the occasional word or note that made it through their house’s thin walls.

After a time, Mikora took a reluctant step. Then one more, and two more, which brought some hope that Mikora might turn and leave. But the grating of a chair against the floor dashed that, as Mikora settled in and took a seat. “Kals, you can’t stay in bed all night. You have to go out, eventually.”

Kali’s ears flicked, and she finally dragged her muzzle from her pillow. With a flat, resigned sigh, when she dropped onto her cheek. Her brow furrowed now that she finally looked at Mikora. She didn’t wear her usual crab-shucking or waitressing outfit–not what she usually wore for street-sweeping or house cleaning, either. She dressed simply, with a plain shirt, pants, and scarf, like she would for going to the well or grocery shopping near the port.

“Aren’t you going to work?” Kali asked as smoothly as she could. Though the optimistic pitch, suggesting she hoped the answer was yes, was still readily apparent.

At which Mikora only smiled. “No. I’m taking today off.”

Kali bit back a groan, and she dove nose-first back into her pillow. “Great. Good for you.”

She didn’t press as hard as she did before. From the corner of her eye, she could still see Mikora sitting at her desk. Her marbled tail flicked back and forth a few times before she spoke again. “You can’t sulk in here forever.”

“I know. The ship leaves in two weeks.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” Mikora sighed. “You can’t wait for him to show up. Trust me, the time you waste isn’t worth it. I’ve done it before. It doesn’t work.”

Kali’s ears twitched. She picked up her head again, this time sitting upright in her hammock, her tail wavering to keep her upright. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve done this before. Hiding in my bedroom, waiting for a cute molly to climb up and tap on my window–You know you’re not the first cats to come up with this stuff.”

“He didn’t tap on the window. He–” Kali’s whiskers twitched, and she shook her head. Somehow, telling Mikora he threw rocks at their rather thin windows didn’t sound wise, once she considered it. “Nevermind. Why do you care, anyway?” Kali scoffed. “He’s just some Dockie. You don’t even like him.”

Mikora sighed through her teeth. “He is a Dockie,” Mikora grimaced, like the word tasted sour on her tongue. A fleeting scowl that softened when she looked at Kali again and saw her lifeless tail and drooped whiskers. “Even if I didn’t like him,” she said softly. “You clearly did. I hate seeing you mope about like this, kitten.”

“I’m not a kitten.”

“You’ll always–”

“I know!” Kali groaned, her ears flattening again. “I know. ‘Mere, you don’t have to say it every single time.”

Mikora chuckled. “I’m still going to say it. Every single time.” Her playful tail danced back and forth, brushing across the floor. Waiting, seemingly, for something, by how she watched Kali. Her green eyes glinted in the dim room. A nefarious, mischievous look that unnerved Kali more than any of Mikora’s usual fussing did.

An eternity passed, and Mikora’s twitchy tail couldn’t wait any longer. “Are you going to ask why I took today off?”

Kali’s tail twitched, too, and her ears skewed at the question. She pondered for a while before answering with a resolute, “No.”

“Because we’re going out.” Mikora hopped from her chair and tugged once on Kali’s hammock, setting it swaying. “Get up and get some fresh clothes.”

“Out?” Kali scrunched her muzzle. “Where are we going?”

Mikora held up a single finger. “First, we’re going to grab some of those crispy treats you like so much.”

“Can we really afford that?”

“You let me worry about that,” she said, wagging her finger. “Besides, Ziya’s little stipend for your claws is more than enough to get us by. We’ll make it another couple weeks. We can splurge this once.”

Kali’s tail lashed, but she didn’t object. Mikora seemed dead set on whatever plans she had devised–with or without Kali ever agreeing to them. “Okay,” Kali said. “Then what–”

A barely uttered agreement, and Mikora had already turned tail. She hurried down the hall, whimsical tail perked high. Kali leaned over in her hammock, straining to watch Mikora as she trotted to the stairs. “Wait! What’s second?” She called after. “Where are we actually going?”

She thought Mikora might not have heard her, with how fast her marbled tail vanished downstairs, but a moment later her head popped back into view. All of Mikora’s whiskers lifted with a smart grin. “To let off some steam,” she answered. “A few twangs of a string, and you’ll feel so much better. There’s nothing like driving arrows into a target to take your mind off things.”

Kali’s ears flicked at that, and she held up her bandaged hands. “I’m supposed to shoot a bow like this?”

“If you want to be a Mjauzi, you will. You can’t let some missing claws stop you.” Mikora’s muzzle vanished again as she headed downstairs one last time. “A few bulls-eyes, and you’ll feel plenty better! Trust me!”

“But–” Kali glanced over at her window. She watched the street, what little she could see, through the single pane. “Whatever.” Kali growled under her breath. Her tail flicked as she stared out of her window, then it froze in place. Grasped by the thought that crossed between her ears.

If Rinzaan wasn’t here, there was only one other place he could be.

And that single thought was enough to spur Kali, who promptly tumbled out of her hammock, nearly tripping when she landed. She ran over to her dresser, digging for the first shirt and pants she could find and changing into them. She tied her ankles, a rushed knot to keep the sand out, but the ties on her sleeves flapped freely when she rushed downstairs.

“I’m ready!” Kali called, only one sleeve tied when she found Mikora waiting in the kitchen. A short glass in Mikora’s hands, which held up to her lips and nearly dropped when Kali whipped around the corner. She had already settled in at the kitchen table with a book and a glass of cheap wine, clearly expecting Kali to take far longer than she did.

Her eyes snagged on Kali’s loose sleeve, following the loose strips of fabric as they fluttered, but she saved whatever comment waited on her tongue. Instead, Mikora set aside her glass and pushed back her chair. “If you’re ready,” she said. “We’ll get going.”

“Think we can still catch the lift?” Kali asked.

Mikora shrugged. “If we skip the snacks, maybe.”

“We can skip the snacks,” Kali said while she tied her second sleeve, wrapping the ends and pulling them taut. “I’m not that hungry, and the second batch is never as good, anyway.”

“Then we’ll make it.” Mikora swiped two scarves off a rack and tossed one to Kali. “If we run.”

Kali snatched the scarf out of the air. A darker fabric, a mellow, dark green. Something unobtrusive, which was fitting for sneaking around the gaudy palace hallways. She wrapped the ends around her shoulders and tugged the hood up.

Once Mikora had her scarf in place, she nodded, and Kali threw open the front door. Her hand brushed across the totem. A split-second, a pinch of luck for the road, and she didn’t dwell for a moment longer. Her feet hit the boardwalk at a run. Kali didn’t look back once, trusting that Mikora followed. The reassuring drum of her heavier footfalls only lagged a few paces behind.

There wasn’t any time to spare, with the full blanket of stars shining past the distant rooftops, and the Benz streets filled with cats and music from the regular nightly festivities.

They cut through alleys, darted and weaved through dense crowds. She followed a familiar path, her feet drummed on the old wooden boardwalk, ears twisting at the occasional uneasy creak. There wasn’t time to dwell on the sandy death that waited for her, if any of the planks snapped. Kali had to trust the Benz to keep her afloat this once, even if she had to run across the sketchier streets they often avoided.

Her lungs felt ragged and breaths were short by the time the lift came into view, with the rope pulleys reaching up into the towering night sky. Kali was so close now, she could practically see Dockside–the fancy, decorated buildings and glittery rooftops were almost within claw’s reach.

She didn’t see the platform suspended overhead. That alone was a good sign, and enough to push Kali onward. If she couldn’t see the massive shadow outlined by the stars that showed through, they still had a chance. No matter how she panted and her heart raced, Kali kept running, and once or twice she called back, making sure Mikora stayed right behind her. Apart from that, her ears stayed forward. Sights fixed on the stairs they rushed towards.

Even then, they barely reached the lift in time.

Not a second to spare, as they dashed onto the platform. The pulleys and wheels were already in motion. The ledge lifted off the base, starting the steady ascent. They had to jump to clear the edge. A breath later, and they would’ve spent the night climbing countless stairs instead.

They only received a couple of sidelong glances. Few cats paid them any attention at all. Most there were familiar with the lift’s tricky scheduling and had seen more than one cat make that desperate leap.

Once her heart had slowed enough that she could hear again, Kali sat upright. They were higher up than she expected, with the patchwork houses and streets swiftly receding underneath them. They vanished past her toes, which almost dangled off the platform from where she sat. Far closer to the edge than she usually liked, but there wasn’t much room to move back.

“I was right,” Mikora said, with one final wheeze when she pushed herself up to her feet. “We just made it.”

“You just did,” Kali said, her whiskers half-lifted with a smirk. “I got here in plenty of time.”

“Kals, if it weren’t for me, you’d still be in bed,” Mikora answered with a snippy flip of her tail. “Now come over here. You’re too close to the edge.”

Kali rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t deny it. She pulled her feet under her, taking the required half-step back. As far as either of them could get without stepping on any tails, considering how many cats packed together. She watched their city slip away beneath the lift and turned her whiskers upwards as they approached the radiant glow of Dockside’s open skies. The familiar pale blue that flooded across the platform, which Kali welcomed, though she had to blink a few times to adjust.

The night was clear, as usual. Little wind, as the lift settled at the upper city. Less than there usually was so high up. But Kali didn’t mind, since her scarf stayed more easily in place than it usually did.

Mikora hopped onto the smooth, glossy boards of Dockside, and most times Kali did the same. But today Kali didn’t follow with the same impatience she always did. Instead, she meandered her way down the flight of steps, ears perked and eyes roving through the crowd, which was met with a curt frown and glare when she finally looked back at Mikora.

“Kals, I didn’t actually bring you up here to-”

“I know! We’re not here to look for him. I thought I might check this one time. That’s all.”

Kali lied through her teeth, and they both knew it. Mikora’s tail lashed left and right. She stayed there, a solid block of annoyed fur, remaining resolute in Kali’s path. Or so it seemed, until Mikora finally turned away with a sigh. “I know you’re going to look,” she grumbled. “I knew that would be the case, bringing you up here. I’m not going to stop you–” Mikora raised a hand when Kali’s whiskers tensed. Before Kali could speak a word, Mikora threw a curt glare over her shoulder. “You can look, but you still need to be careful. No dawdling. You can’t stare for too long. You have to keep moving, but you can look for him. Just this one time.”

Kali chirped, her tail popping up. “I can?”

“From the service path,” Mikora stressed. “And we’re not slowing down. We’re still headed straight for the Mjauzi yards. You’re still going to practice. Got it?”

“Right.” Kali agreed with a quick bob of her muzzle. She hopped off the last step and followed on Mikora’s tail, though her eyes still combed through the nearby streets, searching for those dark ears she knew so well.

“What did I say?”

Kali’s nose snapped forward to where Mikora waited, already several lengths ahead from where she was–and they had barely stepped off the lift. “That I can look?”

“As long as you don’t slow down,” Mikora reminded her with a huff. “So don’t slow down.”

“I’m not–I won’t. I’m on your tail. No worries.” To quell her fears, Kali took a couple of quick steps to catch up and hovered less than a tail-length away. “See?”

Mikora’s tail lashed once more. She agreed with a huff and started forward again. Kali picked up her feet and made a better effort to follow this time. Staying quick and light, even while her nose pointed elsewhere. Though, despite her assurances, she didn’t stay on Mikora’s tail for long.

The farther they were from the lift, the farther Kali lagged behind. She stopped at every intersecting street and alleyway, standing on the tips of her toes and weaving to try to see through all the colorful Dockies and their flowy and sparkling attire. Glittering gems on their ears and necks, some studded on their noses, and rich vibrant silks draped across their slender forms. A beauty she never saw in the Benz–that she rarely saw on Dockside, either, since she wasn’t allowed to gawk in case someone saw her.

But today she had permission, so today she gawked at all of them. Even if she was rather disappointed every time she saw a touch of brown on one of their pelts. Always the wrong shade or the wrong place. Never the ears and muzzle she so sought. Until they were almost at the palace, passing the last intersecting streets, and Kali started losing any hope of catching him on the street. Since Rinzaan was likely already at the palace, where he belonged, with how long the night had already carried on.

Even Mikora seemed disheartened while she waited for Kali to catch up. She didn’t say anything to rush Kali, or any of her usual snippy comments, when she dragged her tail. She waited with an unusual patience, given how Kali stopped and peered down every street, despite the urgency she expressed before.

As they neared the end of their path, the service entrance in sight, Mikora paused and looked back. “I’m sorry, Kals. He might come by the yard?” Mikora offered. “And I can poke around the halls a bit. See if I can find him?”

Kali’s ears flattened at the suggestion. “No. You’ll scare him off.” She looked down the street–the second to last, before the palace stairs–and let out an exasperated sigh. “I’ll just have to wait until we sail again.”

Mikora chirped, her ears hopping up. An alarm on her face, which Kali wasn’t expecting. Kali even turned to check behind her, in case Nazhir was coming at them with a knife again. But it was just Kali she stared at, who had apparently startled her, and no one else. “What?” Kali asked.

Mikora’s jaw flapped twice. An awkward twitch to her tail, when she did manage to find her tongue again. “Kals, you–you know what happens,” she said, as if each word tripped off her tongue. “What happens to Dockie apprentices.”

“And?” Kali asked, only bothering to turn a single ear while she continued looking down the street. She narrowed her eyes at a couple of cats, who, at first, seemed like they might be a match, until she realized their ears were too pale.

Mikora’s tail whipped once. She took a long, slow breath. “They don’t sail forever,” she said. “You know it’s a temporary deal. A few trips on the sand, and they’re done. And after an attack like that, he–” Mikora’s tail rippled, as if chilled by the thought. “He’s probably not coming back.”

“I mean, I know that,” Kali muttered, though she really only listened with half an ear. The other pointed forward, where her eyes fixed at the end of the alleyway. Still fixated on those ears that seemed so close to Rinzaan’s, strangely so, yet didn’t quite match. “But I’m sure he’ll be there. He’s different.” Kali continued squinting, straining to see through the glinting decorated ears. Her other ear turned forward, and she stopped in her tracks.

“You say that, but, Kals, I don’t think–”

“That’s him.”

Kali barely whispered it. Even so, Mikora’s muzzle whipped aside, her eyes quickly following Kali’s. Though she clearly didn’t see him–not the way Kali did.

Unmistakable. His long, pointed ears and muzzle, dark brown and creamy fur that she could sink and drown in, covered in a light silky orange shirt and shorts with delicate golden embroidery fitting for a noble palace cat. And his gray eyes, so cool and collected as he looked towards his future. The palace.

And the rows and rows of guards, who would stop Kali if she didn’t go now.

“Okay, we found him,” Mikora said quickly. “But we need to be careful about this. You can’t–”

Kali flattened her ears, shutting out anything else Mikora had to say, and she ran.

Faster than she had before, to reach the lift, and far faster than Mikora could keep up with. She darted out into the middle of the street, with all its smooth, elaborately carved houses lining either side. The scent of perfumes with the underlying musk of pungent greenery wafted through the air.

Kali lost sight of him for a minute. Somewhere among all the colorful clothing and gleaming jewels. She looked up once, only to find another colorpoint staring down at her. Short, smooth black fur, and a pointed stare at Kali’s left eye.

Followed by a snarl and a disgusted hiss, which normally would’ve sent Kali scurrying back into the shadows.

But Kali stood her ground. Her tail lashing with indignation, the fur on her neck bristling. Because this cat, whoever they were, stood in her way. Likely seconds from calling the guards to tote her back to the lift, like they threatened to do the first few times she mistakenly showed her face on the Dockside streets.

The unwelcome bastard of Mjau. A threat to the empire’s precious pedigree, the years spent cultivating their lineage. Crime against the throne–merely by being born. A true moggy.

That’s all most Docksiders saw when they looked at Kali. Certainly all they whispered whenever she was around. But the one cat, the only cat that was different, was only a few steps away–almost within her reach.

No matter what they thought, or how this particularly nasty Dockside cat hissed at her, Kali couldn’t stop now.

Though Kali didn’t dare hiss back against this perceived injustice. As much as she wanted to, after suffering the service paths, the secrecy, the hiding for so many years, she couldn’t bring herself to go that far. Even if they deserved it.

Instead, she tugged her hood forward and darted around them, ignoring the clipped, annoyed clipped growls behind her. Her sights set again on the fluttering orange shirt she saw, and she reached out towards it.

Her bandaged fingers brushed against his, the lightest touch against his fingers, and he whirled around before she could grab onto his hand, a surprised murr at his lips. His eyes were wide, and widened only further, when he saw Kali.

But seeing his soft blue-gray eyes, even in shock, only gave her the resolve she needed. She grabbed onto his hand, locking her fingers with his.

“Kali?” He asked, a flicker in his eyes, when he finally recognized her shadowed face beneath her hood. “What–what are you–”

“I don’t have much time,” Kali said quickly. “I’m sure someone called the guards by now. Come with me!”

She yanked him forward, turning to run. Already searching for gaps in the crowd, where they could dart through and escape onto one of the side streets. Where they could get back to the service path and keep going from there. Maybe to the lift, back to the safety of the Benz. Maybe to the docks, the sands, where they might be able to sneak onto a ship. Just somewhere else–somewhere safe. Wherever that might ultimately be.

But she only took them two steps before Rinzaan dug his heels in, bringing them to an abrupt stop before she could pull him any farther.

“Wait! Where are you taking me?” Rinzaan asked.

“Somewhere–not here,” Kali answered. “We’ve got to go.”

She tried to take another step, but Rinzaan stayed rooted where he was. His arm stretched as far as it could without him taking another step. A strange sight to the Dockies that saw them. Stranger still to the two colorpoint cats, who stood directly behind Rinzaan. Matching golden collars on both of them, studded with the same bright blue sapphires. Neither Kali knew, but she recognized in an instant when she looked back.

An older molly with the same slender muzzle and tall ears, both a similar rich brown shade as Rinzaan’s, and a tom with the same hazy blue eyes. Eyes not quite as warm and welcoming as Rinzaan’s, when he cast a passing glance over Kali to fix an accusing stare at Rinzaan.

“Rinzaan?” The molly asked, seeming to speak for her husband as much as herself. “Who is this rat?”

Rinzaan’s ears swiveled. He looked at Kali for a long time, his hand hanging loose despite her tight grip, as though he were deciding on an answer. An answer that came too easily, as he took a step back and straightened up his posture and ears. “Nobody. She’s just confused.”

This time, Kali’s ears turned slightly miffed at his dismissive tone. “Seriously?” Kali asked, a slight smirk on her muzzle. “That’s what you’re going with? Not, oh, she’s an apprentice from my ship or something? Nobody, really?”

Rinzaan’s lips drew back with a thin frown. “Well, you can’t just show up here like this,” he said. “Out of complete nowhere. And you can’t just take me–where are you even taking me?”

“Anywhere,” Kali said. “I’ll take you anywhere else. We can go to the Benz–to my house. We could even go hide out on the Sandstalker.” Kali looked over her shoulder, her ears twisted to listen. She didn’t hear any swords. Not yet. “We can’t stay here.”

“I can’t leave–” Rinzaan’s muzzle tensed, and he glanced back at his parents. “I have obligations up here, a duty to the palace–the prince. You can’t take me wherever you want.” Rinzaan’s slim tail lashed once. “I’m not going.”

“It’s not like I’m kidnapping you. I’ll bring you back later.”

“Rinzaan.” The molly cut in again. “Do we need to call the guards?”

Rinzaan took a quick breath. An immediate “no” on his lips, yet he hesitated.

Kali felt a prickling sensation across her fur the longer he didn’t answer them. A cold, numb feeling in her hand, as she held onto Rinzaan, but she didn’t feel the same from him. His delicate fingers didn’t curl around hers, squeeze them, as they normally did.

They dangled loose, limp, like an unwilling participant in some sort of charade. In something he wanted no part of, or at least feigned disinterest. Like a Docksider held hostage by a foreign Benz cat. A Docksider who, like the others that stared at them, considered carefully if he needed to call the palace guards after all.

Another quick breath, one he held tight in his chest. An eternity again, until he finally shook his head. “No,” he eventually decided. “No, I don’t need the guards. I can deal with this.”

Kali breathed a sigh of relief. “Then let’s go,” she urged him. “Before someone else calls them. We still have time.” She tugged on his arm once more. Again, he refused. Feet sunk into the boards, even his claws driven in. A sharp tug in the opposite direction, instead, which nearly tripped Kali.

“Stop!” Rinzaan snapped. A sudden curl to his muzzle, the flash of a snarl, as he finally ripped his limp hand from Kali’s grip. Shock laid plain on her face, when she looked at her empty palm, then up at Rinzaan, who ran his recently freed fingers down his muzzle and ruffled his fur. “Can you stop?”

A surprised chirp left Kali’s lips as she stumbled a step. Still off-balance, without her colorpoint lifeline in her hand. “Stop? Why?”

“I just–I really don’t want to go anywhere. Not with you.”

Kali’s ears twisted at the rather sharp ‘with you’ he tacked onto the end. Like an afterthought–a rather toothy one. “Okay.” She looked at his parents again, each of their stern, disapproving frowns. Whiskers and noses tense, like Kali tasted and smelled as bad as she looked, like the rat they thought she was. Her tail tip twitched a couple times, and she shuffled a step closer, despite the same disapproving frown mirrored on Rinzaan’s muzzle, and dropped her voice. “I know you have to put on an act. So let’s go somewhere more private and talk about this.”

“No,” Rinzaan whispered back. “I’m not doing this right now.”

“Right now? What, am I supposed to come back tomorrow?” Kali asked. “Try again later?”

Rinzaan huffed. “No, not really.”

“Look,” Kali said, “I wanted to talk before we left the ship, but that didn’t work out. And I tried to catch you when you were leaving, but you didn’t hear–”

“I heard you.”

Kali’s stared at Rinzaan, uncertain at first if he was serious or not. But the way he looked at her, with that unfamiliar frown, the unwavering gaze, he didn’t seem to be joking. “You did?” Kali asked, a slow wave and a confused curl bending her tail. “At the docks? You heard me.”

Rinzaan’s lips drew thin. Another grimace, when he looked back at his waiting parents and the looming palace behind them. His ears still flattened, and tail lashing, when he reluctantly peeled his eyes away and looked at her again. “I did. And I didn’t want to talk to you. I still don’t.”

Kali’s tail flicked, irked by his flat tone. Something about it still sounded performative in her ears. Insincere. Her tail paused when realization struck. A smile itched at her whiskers, though she didn’t show it, seeing Rinzaan’s bristled hackles. “Is this about what happened?” she asked. “With the shark?”

Rinzaan’s lips curled back, baring his teeth. “Because you left me to die.”

“Come on. I didn’t really–”

Rinzaan’s whiskers drew back, and he cut her off with a curt hiss. “Yes, you did,” he said, his voice low, his teeth bared with each word. “You left me. You left me, when I asked you not to. I told you not to go, and you still left me behind.”

Kali’s whiskers dropped. “I didn’t have a choice. I had to help Tulaziya. She needed me–”

“I needed you!” Rinzaan froze. His ears skewed at his own raised voice. A quick glance behind him, at his parents and the other cats staring, and he dropped his voice back to a whisper. “And you just left! I don’t care what you think you had to do.” He took a quick step forward, his voice falling farther. To a low, hissed growl underneath his breath. “I’m going to say this once, and only once, since you don’t seem to get it. I’m not going anywhere. Not with you. Never with you.”

“Rinzaan–”

“No. I don’t want anything to do with you. I’m done.” Rinzaan said, baring his teeth. “Go back to the Benz and never come back here.”

Kali’s ears swung forward, her eyes wide. Frozen where she was, as his words sank in. As the teeth behind them finally bit into her fur. Even then, she still couldn’t believe it. She tried to reach for him again.

Rinzaan stepped back, meeting her with another hiss. “Just leave me alone,” he said, raising his voice again. “Go back to the Benz, bastard. You don’t belong here. You’re no different from the rest of them–the–the rest of the rats down there.”

He turned away, before she could reach for his sleeve another time, everything else she had to say rejected with a finite lash of his tail. His ears lifted, pointed away from her, towards the palace again.

His mother cast an uncertain glare at Kali, annoyance still glinting in her eyes. “Are you sure we don’t need the guards?”

“Don’t bother.” Rinzaan answered with another annoyed growl. “She’s not worth the time. She’s leaving, anyway.”

His mother didn’t seem to think the same, as her lips drew back. A disgusted snarl, stopped short of a hiss, as she turned and followed Rinzaan. A curt pluck on her mate’s sleeve drew him after her.

Kali watched them leave. Her ears flattened against the surrounding whispers, as several nosy Dockies hovered around.

Some hadn’t caught a glimpse of her eye yet, only her muzzle peeking from her scarf, and only speculated who she was. Others confirmed it, with scowls and offended lashes of their tails.

They didn’t really care about whatever played out before them. They only cared that a Benz cat dared dirty their streets with her sandy feet. Worse yet to those that did recognize her faulty golden eye–that this Benz cat, the one whose existence was a treachery to their pedigreed throne, dared try to touch one of them. Tried to reach out to one of them. Thought, even for a moment, that one of them, one of their cold, harsh pelts, might dare accept her.

But Kali didn’t listen to them. Her eyes stayed on Rinzaan, even as he headed up the palace stairs, past the several guards with their bows across their backs and swords at their hip. Watching, as his silhouette became a mere blur at the top of the stairs, a mirage of dark brown and cream fur that vanished into the palace halls. Watching only, with her leaden feet unable to follow after, because even with her ears flat, his words still echoed inside them. And they stung. A sharper sting than when her claws were wrenched from her fingers, trying to save him–to save all of them. One she felt deep in her chest.

The moment he was gone, Kali dropped her nose. She pulled her hood forward, as if it made a difference at that point. Enough of the surrounding crowd had figured her out by now. It didn’t really matter if she wore a scarf at all.

“Kals–”

Kali lifted her ears at Mikora’s familiar voice. Though she bit down on her tongue, hearing the way Mikora said her name this time. Not with the accusatory or chiding tone she was used to–that she really would’ve preferred, especially now.

Mikora lightly cleared her throat, seeming to realize her own error. “Kals,” she said again, once she saw she had Kali’s ear. “I’m sorry, but we have to leave.”

Kali clenched her hands at her sides, digging her claws into her palms. The few claws she currently had. A pinch she barely felt.

A slow, forced breath, and Kali answered. “I know. The Mjauzi are waiting. It’s fine–” Her voice broke, before she could finish. It snapped under the weight pressing on her chest, strangling the last note in her tight throat.

“We don’t have to go train right now,” Mikora said. “We can come back another time.”

Kali shut her eyes. A vain attempt to seal her blurred vision and trap her tears behind them. A failure, as she felt cold streaking down her face, regardless. “We can–we can still go,” she said through her teeth. Steeled together, to try to keep her voice level. Failing again, as her voice sounded mewled and strained even to her own ears. “He–he didn’t mean it. It was j–just–he had to say that. He had to.”

Another sob choked past her throat. Then another. Kali pawed at her face, swiping her hands and sleeve across her damp cheeks, but the tears wouldn’t stop. Not even when she felt Mikora’s arms around her shoulders. An embrace usually so reassuring, a silent promise that usually solved everything, that only felt hollow now. Like the pit in her chest, which Kali couldn’t stop sinking farther and farther into.

But Mikora held on, even while Kali sobbed in the Dockside boardwalk. One eye on the stairs, where Rinzaan had vanished–where a couple guards were now absent. Mikora drew back, a guiding pull on Kali’s shoulder, which urged her numb feet forward one step at a time. “Come on, Kals,” Mikora said, so softly that Kali almost couldn’t hear past her own sobs. “Let’s go home.”

Kali nodded, unable to speak anything else. Following only by the steady weight of Mikora’s arm across her shoulders, unable to see or hear anything else. Drowning in her tears and deafened by her own choking mewls, despite how she tried to stop. How she tried to believe in that little glimmer of hope, which she clung to in the past, that she would see Rinzaan again. That he would find her in the Benz, tap on her window, and whisk her away, back into their bed of soft pelts and tangled tails. A hope that seemed fainter and fainter still, with each pace put between them now.

What once seemed to be so close, now felt an insurmountable distance between them. And that faintest hope soon vanished, when they returned home, and Kali found no one waiting at their doorstep. No pebbles at her window. No soothing blue eyes, or charming, handsome smiles waiting there for her. Not then, and not in the weeks following.

He didn’t wait for her at her home, or on the Sandstalker, the weeks later, when the ship was finally repaired. Even though hope burned so strongly in her chest once, and it still simmered even after all he said. A hope for one more chance to see him again, to speak again, to say everything she wanted to say. To hear what she so desperately wanted to hear from him in return.

But Kali never would get that chance. Because that was the last time she saw Rinzaan. On those cold, cruel streets, where she left the last of their dreams together. Dreams that faded, over time, as she moved forward onto new horizons. To new hopes, to new loves, even if the future never seemed as bright as it once did, when she was young.

Even later on, from time to time, she would always remember that day. That day she lost the first cat whoever saw her for who she was, even if it was only for a moment, the first cat who she loved and she lost on those streets.

Left behind, with only a faint memory of what they were, what they might have been, if their worlds hadn’t been so distant from the start.