The receptionist looks up, her face covered in freckles, her smile is so bright I feel like I need some fucking sunglasses. I look down to not get blinded and notice her shirt has a pawprint heart andWho Rescued Who?printed on it.
Jesus.
I fight the need to roll my eyes.
“Hi there! Looking to adopt?”
“No,” I deadpan . “I’m just here to haunt the cages until someone calls security.”
She blinks as her smile dims.
I sigh. “That was sarcasm. Yes, I’m here to adopt.”
Her smile brightens once again. “Great! Do you know what you’re looking for?”
“No idea, but I’m thinking something big. The uglier the better. Possibly haunted if you have it,” I say. “I need a walking partner who won’t talk back.”
Her smile falters; guilt punches me in the chest.Catch it, Lucian. Not her fault.
“I’m kidding,” I say. Then pause. “Kind of.”
She recovers with a polite click of her keyboard. “Well, we have a few dogs who aren’t getting a lot of attention, mostly the bigger breeds. We also have a few older ones, a few with behavioral flags—”
“Perfect,” I say.Also me, but I’m not unpacking that today.
The girl squints at me like she’s trying to decide if I’m really here for the right reasons, which I’m not. “Are you sure?”
“I work for the Bureau,” I mutter. “Or at least–I used to. I promise you, I’ve dealt with worse.”
“Okay then,” she says. “Come with me.”
We bypass the cheerful puppy room. The one with bows, squeaky toys, and too much noise. Back here, it’s quieter with a heavier air.
She pauses at one of the crates and drops into a crouch. “His full title is Sir Sassafras the Sassy Ass Cat, but we’ve shortened it to Sir Sassafras. He’s been with us for a few weeks. His owner passed away, and he didn’t have any remaining family to take Sir Sassafras in. He knew his time was running out, so when Sir Sassafras came to us from his neighbor, he came with a stack of handwritten notes about his favorite foods and which TV shows he liked best. His owner didn’t have much, but he left money behind specifically for Sir Sassafras.”
I blink. “Thecathas an inheritance?”
“Technically, we do, until he gets placed,” she replies. “But yeah, you should be able to take him home and get everything you need at the pet store without spending a dime of your money.”
Inside the crate is a massive ragdoll cat with cream and gray fur, big blue eyes that see way too much. He’s missing one back leg, sprawled in a way that saysyeah, and?With a wide head, ridiculous mane, and a tail like a feather boa. Chonky doesn’t even cover it; he’s a pillow with whiskers.
I stare. “That’s a cat.”
“You’re a sharp one, aren’t you?” she notes, dryly. “Dogs are easy. He isn’t. He needs someone stubborn, and I think you two would make quite the pair.”
“I came for a dog.”
Sir Sassafras yawns, slow and deliberate, showing me a mouth full of teeth.
She unlatches the crate before I can protest.
“Wait—”
She’s already scooping up an armful of ridiculous fluff and shoves him at my chest. Reflex kicks in, and I catch him because dropping a three-legged cat feels like an express ticket to hell.
The second he’s placed in my arms, he starts to purr. The vibration hits my ribs, and something weird happens: the tension I’ve been carrying around just… disappears. He tilts his giant head up to rub his face against my jaw, and headbutts me so hard my teeth click. I swear I can hear him sayclaim staked, human acquired.
I blink down at the cat in my arms. “I said I wanted a walking partner.”
