The moon was quiet.

  Too quiet, even for the dead ones.

  No wind, no hum, no electromagnetic chatter. Just rock, cold and still, wrapped in a vacuum so clean it felt rude to breathe in it. Not that I needed to.

  A tiny force field shimmered across the mouth of a grotto. Barely there. Like the universe was trying not to look at it too closely.

  A scouting ship drifted overhead. Didn’t see the flicker. Didn’t notice the heartbeat inside the crack. Didn't matter.

  She was alone in the grotto. Back against the wall, cradling her arm. Bleeding slowly. Cleaning it slower.

  She hissed when she peeled the bandage off. Not fear, just irritation. Tough girl.

  A spider-thing crawled up her leg. Eight legs. No soul. Not the poetic kind of spider either, just crunchy and mean.

  She caught it with her good hand and flung it into the rocks.

  “Damn bugs.”

  It didn’t take the hint.

  It skittered back, limbs twitching, jaw plates chattering like it was composing a war speech.

  It leapt.

  I landed before it did.

  One paw. One crunch.

  It stopped being a problem.

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  She didn’t see me. She wouldn't remember this moment. But I would. She’s important. More important than I meant her to be.

  That was the mistake.

  Now I fix it.

  ***************

  The universe blinked. I blinked with it.

  Suddenly, lace curtains. Velvet carpets. A chandelier shaped like a questionably tasteful fruit arrangement. Expensive smells. Too many pillows.

  Lira stood on a chair in the middle of the room, sipping wine straight from the glass like she’d invented elegance and couldn’t be bothered to patent it. Her blonde hair drifted in the breeze from an open vent. She wore a white dress made of nothing and moonlight.

  She saw me instantly.

  “Hey there.”

  She didn’t ask how I got in. Not anymore. That phase had passed.

  I considered telling her. But I didn’t. Being a mystery is half the fun. Being a cat is the other half.

  She reached down and scratched behind my ears.

  Bliss.

  Her fingers moved like they had a map of my nerves and a vendetta against stress. She knew all the right places. Neck. Chin. Just behind the ears. Just under the jaw. I may have purred loud enough to rattle the window glass. Not sorry.

  She gave me a pancake.

  Warm. Buttered both sides. A hint of cinnamon. No syrup. Perfect.

  I bit into it gently. With reverence. Some things deserve ceremony.

  She turned away to set her glass down.

  By the time she turned back, I was gone.

  ***************

  Mellody’s room was dim.

  She slept like she hadn’t earned it. Tense under the blanket, brow furrowed, one hand still twitching like it wanted to fix something in her dreams. Her breath caught every few cycles, like her body kept remembering it wasn’t safe.

  I padded to her side. Quiet. I didn't float this time, I walked.

  I curled up beside her. Pressed my side to hers. Her warmth seeped through the sheet. It was good. Familiar.

  I closed my eyes.

  But space doesn’t sleep. It just changes shape.

  ***************

  The ripple came like a ripple never should. No warning. No rules. Just there.

  A shadow formed in the room.

  Wrong shadow. Didn’t belong to anything.

  It didn’t walk. It unfolded.

  It looked at her.

  Studied her like a menu.

  Its claws shimmered as they hovered above her skin. Just above. Almost.

  I didn’t move.

  Didn’t growl. Didn’t stretch.

  I just watched.

  Because it knew.

  The moment it touched her, it would stop being anything.

  That’s not a threat.

  It’s a fact.

  She is mine.

  Not to own.

  Not to control.

  Just mine.

  And I do not share.