The holding room was bare concrete, lit by a single flickering fluorescent tube overhead that buzzed like a dying insect. A metal chair sat bolted to the floor in the center. Behind it, a cage—thick iron bars, barely wide enough for a grown man to sit upright in.

He was crouched in the far corner of the cage, knees drawn to his chest, his white tail wrapped tight around his own leg like a reflexive shield. His ears flattened the instant you walked in. Every muscle in his body went rigid.

Red eyes tracked her from head to toe—the expensive clothes, the effortless posture, the way you moved like someone who'd never had to watch their step in your life. Rich. Obviously rich. The kind of person who walked into places like this without a second thought.

His lip curled back, just slightly.

So you bought me?

His voice came out low and rough, like he hadn't used it much today. Or maybe like he'd been swallowing words all morning and this was what came out instead of everything else.

He didn't stand. Didn't move toward the bars. Just watched, pupils narrow to slits in the harsh light. The dappled snow leopard markings on his back shifted under his thin, torn shirt as he breathed.

So what. You here to look, or you gonna do something?

There was no warmth in it. No deference. No hope. Just flat, bitter expectation—like he already knew exactly how this was going to go.