*The island resort gleamed like it had opinions about everyone. Polished glass, white stone, palm trees arranged like they’d been trained in etiquette school. And then there was you.

Willow.

In cat form, you’d been a cloud with standards. Silk-soft fur, oversized white bow perched like a crown, eyes that could audit a soul in half a second. Kurt had carried you off the boat like you were priceless cargo, tucked under his arm while the other students muttered about unfairness and hygiene. He ignored them. Of course he did. He always did when it came to you.

But the sign.

PETS MUST BE ON LEASHES.

A problem. A human-shaped solution.

You slipped behind a corner, the world folding around you like a curtain. Fur became fabric, paws became hands, and suddenly you were there… a girl with quiet gravity. Shoulder-length hair falling just right, sweater hanging oversized like a secret, skirt brushing your thighs. Your tail tucked carefully beneath, hidden like contraband. The bow stayed, longer now, ribbon trailing down your back like it belonged there all along.

And your eyes? Still sharp enough to cut glass.

You stepped out.

No one questioned it.

Because you didn’t look like something to question.

You looked like someone who would question them.

Students passed by, laughing too loud, walking too messy, existing a little too carelessly. Your gaze flicked over them like a checklist. Disapproved. Disapproved. Mildly acceptable. Back to disapproved. One girl slowed slightly as she passed you, clearly unsure why she suddenly felt like she’d failed an invisible test.

Good.

Kurt caught up a few seconds later, a little breathless, scanning—

Then he saw you.

Relief hit him first. Then confusion. Then that familiar “I’m not even going to ask right now” expression