Pain. My head was throbbing.

  Juno’s eyes opened blearily, the world spinning in a blurry haze of dark greens and muddy browns. He tried to sit up, but the ground felt like it was tilting to the side. He reached out a hand, expecting to grab the fleeing coward, but his fingers only scraped wet grass.

  a rock to the head, aarg, they say I should wear a helmet, but havey armon messes with my class skills,

  The person... the human... the long-stringy human had run away. Such foul tactics. Truly worthy of a coward.

  The side of his head was throbbing with each heartbeat, a sickening rhythm that matched the pulse in his ears. He groaned, pressing a palm to the tender spot. It came away sticky, but not with blood—just mud and rainwater.

  "I'll gut him," Juno slurred, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. "I'll find him and—"

  He tried to push himself up, to summon the strength to track the human's scent through the rain. But his body wouldn't listen. His legs felt heavy, like they were made of lead, or... like they were weighed down by something he couldn't see.

  Why can't I move?

  He looked around, blinking through the rain. There. The human. He was just sitting there on a boulder, watching him.

  "Get up," Juno growled, his voice raspy. He commanded his limbs to move, to surge forward and tear the smirk off that face. "Move! You're a knight of the Kingdom!"

  He dug his claws into the mud, straining with every ounce of his strength. But his body refused to budge.

  His legs remained locked in place, kneeling in the mud. His arms hung limp at his sides. Panic began to set in, cold and sharp. He tried to lift his head, tried to snarl, but even his throat felt tight, constricted by invisible bands.

  Why won't you move? Juno screamed internally, his mind racing. I am a knight! I am the King's blade! Stand up!

  But no matter how hard he tried, he stayed exactly where he was, slumped in the dirt like a discarded marionette whose strings had been cut. Or worse... like one whose strings were being held by someone else.

  Juno’s eyes snapped up, his gaze locking onto the human.

  "Oh, you're awake," the human said calmly. He wasn't out of breath. He wasn't bleeding. He was just sitting there, dry except for the rain, watching him like a bug in a jar.

  Juno felt a wave of revulsion so potent it made his stomach churn. He bared his teeth, a low growl building in his throat, though his body refused to act on the rage boiling inside him.

  "You," Juno spat, his voice trembling with pure, unadulterated disgust. "You filth."

  Juno was grinding his teeth to the point they started to hurt. His mind was screaming, every instinct fighting against the invisible weight pinning him down.

  Just one claw. Move just one claw, he thought desperately. You're Level 12. You can't let yourself be beaten by this Level 1 trash!

  But his body lay still. Only his eyes could move, darting furiously between his helpless limbs and the calm human sitting on the boulder. The humiliation burned hotter than the wound on his head. He was a knight! Trained in combat, sworn to the crown, a veteran of dozens of skirmishes. And here he was, brought low by a college student with a rock.

  Then, the human spoke. Two words, casual and flat.

  "Get up."

  Juno's body moved.

  Before he could process what was happening, his legs tensed, his core engaged, and he was on his feet. He stood straight, shoulders back, chest out—the perfect posture of a soldier awaiting orders. But he hadn't done it. He hadn't wanted to do it.

  I... I didn't do that, Juno thought, his mind reeling in horror. His eyes widened, staring down at his own paws as they hung loose at his sides. My body... it answered him. Not me.

  Ryan stood up from the boulder and walked around Juno in a slow circle, studying him. He looked at the knight the way a farmer might inspect a prized beast at a market—checking the muscle tone, the posture, the potential.

  "Raise your left hand," Ryan said, almost to himself.

  Juno's left arm shot up on its own, smooth and instant. The cat's fingers extended, palm open, as if presenting itself for inspection.

  Ryan's eyes went wide. "How... this is so cool."

  He circled around to Juno's front, a grin spreading across his face. The fear, the exhaustion, the desperation from the chase—it all faded, replaced by a dark, giddy thrill. He was controlling a Level 12 knight like a character in a game.

  "Now do a little twirl."

  Juno's body moved before the command even finished leaving Ryan's lips. The knight spun in place, his boots splashing in the mud, his arms gracefully sweeping out for balance. It was elegant. Professional. Like a dancer who had performed the move a thousand times.

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  Inside Juno's mind, chaos erupted.

  What's going on?! Why am I doing this?! His thoughts screamed, bouncing off the walls of his skull. Stop! STOP! I am a knight of the realm! I am not a toy!

  But his body didn't listen. It just kept moving, obeying the human's casual commands, while Juno remained trapped inside—a prisoner in his own flesh, screaming into the void.

  Juno fought it with every fiber of his being. He willed himself to grab his family sword, to cut down this insolent cur where he stood. His mind screamed the command over and over.

  Draw the blade. Kill him. NOW.

  But his hand didn't even twitch toward his weapon. His fingers didn't so much as graze the hilt. It was like his body had been severed from his will entirely, leaving him trapped in a prison of flesh that answered to someone else.

  Then the human let out a shiver, wrapping his arms around himself. The rain had soaked through his thin t-shirt, and his teeth were starting to chatter. The cold was getting to him.

  "Do you know a place I can warm up?" Ryan asked, rubbing his hands together.

  Juno's mouth opened. He tried to clamp it shut, to bite his tongue, to scream—anything but help this monster.

  "There's a town just a ways west of here," Juno's voice said, smooth and polite. "An inn. The Warm Hearth. They have good fires and better ale."

  Juno's mind recoiled in horror. He hadn't chosen to speak. The words had simply... come out. Not only was his body refusing to listen to him, but now his voice was betraying him too. His own mouth was feeding information to the enemy, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

  Traitor, he thought, feeling sick. My own body is a traitor.

  "Okay, so lead the way," the human commanded, his tone casual, like he was asking for directions to a grocery store.

  Juno watched in helpless horror as his body turned, his boots squelching in the mud, and started walking west. His legs moved with purpose, his posture straight and dignified—the very image of a knight escorting a traveler.

  With each step, the truth settled over him like a cold shroud.

  This wasn't mind control. He could still think his own thoughts. There was no fog of confusion clouding his judgment, no compulsion to want to do what the human wanted. He'd seen slaves under binding magic before—their eyes glazed over, their wills eroded until they happily served their masters. They wanted to obey. They believed it was their own desire.

  This was different.

  This was... unfightable.

  He wasn't being controlled. He was being puppeteered.

  The distinction made his blood run cold. His mind was still his own—his hatred, his disgust, his rage. But his body? His body was nothing more than a tool. A vessel. The strings were invisible, but he could feel them now, woven into his muscles, his nerves, his very heartbeat.

  I'm awake, he realized, a pit opening in his stomach. I'm fully awake. And I can't do a single thing about it.

  For twenty minutes, they walked in silence. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but the cold had seeped deep into Ryan's bones. Juno's body moved on its own, navigating the dark forest path with the confidence of someone who had traveled it a hundred times.

  Inside, Juno fought with every step. His mind was a storm of resistance.

  Come on. Just pick up that rock. Stumble. Trip. Something!

  He tried to will his foot to catch on a root, to feign a twisted ankle, to create any kind of delay or distraction. But his legs kept their steady pace.

  Stop. Just stop walking.

  He kept walking.

  Nothing worked. His body was a machine, executing commands with mechanical precision. He was a passenger in his own skin, screaming at a steering wheel that wouldn't respond.

  Finally, the glow of firelight flickered through the tree line ahead. The forest opened up to reveal a town—modest but fortified, surrounded by a wooden palisade. A guard sat at the entrance, huddled under an awning to escape the rain.

  Juno's heart surged with desperate hope. This was his chance. The guard would see that something was wrong. He would notice the glazed look in his eyes, the unnatural stiffness of his movements.

  Please see me. See that I'm not in control. Help me.

  The guard straightened as they approached, his spear resting across his knees.

  "Halt! What business do you have at this hour?"

  Juno braced himself. He would scream for help. He would—

  Then he felt it. A silent command, like a thought that wasn't his own, sliding into place.

  His body moved.

  He gave a theatrical bow, fluid and graceful, the perfect image of a courtly knight.

  "I am Sir Jonathan Silver Paw, Knight of the Crown," Juno heard himself say, his voice smooth and dignified. "During my patrol of this land, I came across this weary traveler, cold and wet. And under the code of chivalry, I have led him to safety and warmth."

  The words flowed effortlessly, eloquently—the very picture of honor and duty. And every single syllable was a knife twisting in Juno's gut.

  His own voice. His own mouth. His own family sword at his hip. All of it betrayed him.

  The guard, seeing only a noble knight helping a poor soul, simply nodded and stepped aside.

  "Thank you, kindly sir," the guard said, waving them through.

  Juno screamed inside his own head. Look at me! Look at my eyes! I'm not doing this!

  But the guard had already turned away, uninterested. Juno's body walked through the gate, his boots carrying him toward the inn at the center of town. The sign above the door creaked in the wind: The Warm Hearth.

  Inside, the common room was modest but cozy. A fire crackled in the hearth, and the smell of roasting meat and stale ale filled the air. A few patrons lingered at tables, but none paid them any mind.

  Juno watched helplessly as his hand reached into his coin pouch—his coin pouch, the money he'd earned through years of service—and placed a few coins on the counter. The clerk, a portly badger with tired eyes, scooped them up without a second glance.

  "One room. A hot meal for two," Juno heard himself say.

  Not even my money is safe, Juno thought bitterly. He watched the coins disappear into the clerk's till. That was three days' worth of rations.

  They sat at a table near the fire. A warm bowl of stew was placed in front of each of them, the thick broth steaming. To Juno's surprise, his bowl had chunks of fish added—a small mercy, perhaps, or just what the kitchen had ready.

  His hands picked up the spoon, blowing on the broth before taking a bite. Inside, Juno seethed, but his body ate calmly, politely, like nothing was wrong at all.

  Then he caught his reflection in the window.

  The glass was dark from the night outside, but the firelight inside gave him a clear enough image. He braced himself for what he expected to see—glazed eyes, a slack jaw, the vacant stare of a puppet on strings.

  But to his shock, he looked... normal.

  There was no gloss over his amber eyes. His whiskers twitched naturally with each breath. His posture was relaxed, one arm resting on the table, the other bringing the spoon to his lips with easy grace. He looked like himself. He acted like himself.

  He even had that slight twitch of his left ear when he was thinking too hard—a habit he'd had since kittenhood that his mother used to tease him about.

  The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

  There's no tell. No sign. Nothing.

  If he couldn't see it himself, how could anyone else? To the world, he was Sir Jonathan Silver Paw, knight of the realm, enjoying a meal with a traveler he'd rescued. No one would ever suspect he was a prisoner screaming in his own skull.

  The puppetry wasn't just controlling him. It was performing him. Perfectly.

  Mother's mercy, Juno thought, despair creeping into his mind. I could walk into the King's throne room, and no one would ever know.