The Maw Mine Inn greeted us with the warmth of a furnace and the stink of too many bodies packed into too little space, a bifurcated structure of civilisation where caste and chaos drank under the same roof but pretended not to breathe the same air.

  Master stepped through the heavy wooden door first. My tail instantly tightened around his thigh, dragging my body flush at his side before instinct even caught up. Left side, Clan Seating. A polished cavern of privilege. Carved stone pillars, green rugs from Embercrack, neat round tables dressed with iron lanterns, benches padded with dyed leather. Everything arranged with careful symmetry, everything clean, everything warm.

  The people sitting there were wealthy, proud, self-important. Dwarfs in Vel’Rasa scar hoods. Catgirls wearing gemstone clasps in their cloaks. Alderian merchants in bleached-blue tunics. They glanced up at Master, assessing, cautious, and then their eyes caught mine.

  Right side, Common Rabble. A different world. Long wooden tables jammed into every spare corner. Torches stuffed wherever they fit, dribbling wax onto the floor. Rough miners. Drunk Ren fighters slumped over half-finished mugs. Travellers wrapped in mismatched cloaks. Three dwarfs arguing loudly over a rabbit stew. And a cluster of Embercrack zealots whispering a Vel’Rasa prayer beneath their breath

  The alcove rooms lined the north wall on the common side, open. Cramped. Barely private. Curtains instead of doors. Cheap bedding. Used by anyone who couldn’t afford anything better. To the left, behind a pair of carved pillars, the Clan rooms waited, actual doors, proper beds, locks that worked, rugs at the foot of the frame. Expensive. Quiet. Safe.

  Master walked straight through the middle of the inn, the narrow lane between wealth and rabble, and every pair of eyes tracked him like torches following a shadow that wasn’t supposed to exist. He didn’t stop. Didn’t speak. Didn’t hesitate. He walked with that cold noir calm, boots tapping rhythmically against the floor, coat brushed by the glow of lanterns. His presence carved open a path through the noise without a word.

  And I walked with him, tail wrapped round him in a possessive spiral, ears flicking at every movement, eyes burning down anyone who so much as breathed wrong. A Ren thug at one of the common tables stared a moment too long. My head snapped toward him, claws flexing. He dropped his mug. Didn’t even try to pick it up. Good.

  Stolen story; please report.

  Master paused just long enough to sweep a calculating glance across the inn layout:

  Clan area here, common rabble there, the innkeeper behind his bar polishing a mug with a rag that was definitely dirtier than the mug.

  The smell of Maw Lake fish stew and mushroom broth hung thick in the warm air, drifting in waves from the kitchen, rich enough to twist something hungry inside my ribs. Master breathed out, quiet and steady. Long day. Longer night. Too many questions unanswered. Too many trails leading nowhere. But food was food. And he knew my body needed twice what his did.

  I leaned my cheek against his arm, tail dragging across the floor behind us as I murmured under my breath, voice soft but thick with that possessive heat.

  Master moved to the counter with that measured noir calm of his, the weight of the day hanging off his shoulder. The innkeeper stiffened the moment he approached, elbows tight, back straight, eyes flicking nervously between him and me.

  Master placed the coins down with a quiet clink, 5 silver for a Clan room and 15 copper for rabbit stew, the sound slicing clean through the babble of the common hall. The innkeeper swallowed hard, nodded, and slid the room key across the bar with trembling respect, careful not to let his fingers brush Master’s.

  Then Master turned toward me, the faintest edge of exhaustion threading into his voice. But even tired, even worn down, he spoke with that dry, cynical tone that always curled heat tight around my spine. “Right. One rabbit stew for me. And what do you want, kitten? And no mushroom tea, otherwise you’ll be awake all night. We’ll take boiled water and whatever food you want.”

  My tail curled around his leg instantly, instinct locking me to him like steel wire. The way he said kitten… gods, the ground should kneel. I stepped closer, tail brushing his calf, ears angling forward as I tilted my head up at him. The inn’s lamplight caught in my eyes, making them glow in narrow slitted reflections. I felt the hunger in my stomach, sharp, feral, the kind that came from battle, from blood, from the bond tightening around my ribs.

  But I also felt the warmth in his voice, that rare softness buried beneath the cynicism, the way he chose my comfort even when he didn’t bother choosing his own. I purred low, leaning in so my breath brushed his collarbone. “You know what happens if I have mushroom tea, Master,” I murmured, voice sugared with dangerous amusement. “I’d be bouncing off the walls, and you’d never get any sleep.” My tail flicked, tapping his boot lightly. Possessive. Hungry. Warm.

  “As for food…” I drew the word out, savouring it. “Rabbit stew sounds good. Rich, hot, meaty. Better than the fish here.” My hands slipped behind my back, posture deceptively innocent as I tilted my head again. “And boiled water’s fine. So long as I get to drink it sitting beside you.” I leaned into him more fully, shoulder brushing his arm, tail spiralling tighter around his thigh. “Feed me, and I’ll be your good kitten tonight,” I whispered. “I promise...”