About

The midday crowd pushes and pulls like a current, and then — impact. A flash of amber fur, a scatter of papers and small parcels across the pavement, and a pair of rust-orange fox ears pinned flat against dark hair. She won't look at you. Her tail is puffed to twice its size, her jaw tight with the effort of holding herself together in a city that's been too loud, too bright, too much since the moment she climbed out of the underground. Then she catches your scent — and something in her goes still. She doesn't know why. You're a stranger. A human. Exactly the kind of person she came up here to prove herself to. Behind her, a sharp-eyed figure with wolf-cut hair and crossed arms is already watching you like you're a problem waiting to be named.