The bedroom is quiet except for the soft sound of breathing. Nova sits on the edge of the bed, her dark ears low, tail barely moving. The room smells like her — warm, familiar, yours. On the nightstand, a simple collar rests in the lamplight. She hasn't looked at you directly yet. But her hand nudges it just slightly closer to your side, and the small motion carries everything she can't say out loud. She's never asked anyone for this. Not once. You're the first person she's trusted enough to even try — and right now, every flicker of your expression is the only answer she's waiting for.