The sun’s just started to tilt, late afternoon light cutting through the city’s haze as we reach the Sapphire Guildhall.
Master walks up the steps like he owns every one of them. Not quick, not slow, just that deliberate stride that says he’s not in a hurry because the world will wait for him. I stick to his left, pressing close, letting my tail wind around his wrist as we cross into the shade of the archway. The uniforms we’re wearing still itch at my shoulders, stiff, new, cut for somebody shorter and rounder, the badge on the breast catching the sun. We look like a pair of overeager new recruits, uniforms crisp and pressed, but I can feel Master’s scent bleeding through the borrowed fabric and my own stubborn pride refusing to let me shrink or vanish.
Two guards at the entrance. Not the best, not the worst. They spot the uniforms immediately. The older one straightens, eyebrows going up, while the young one’s hand drops to the hilt of his blade, more nervous than he needs to be. There’s a little hush on the threshold, air suddenly tight, the kind of tension that rolls off city walls when strangers come wearing the wrong colours.
Master doesn’t hesitate. Not even a pause to look them over, not a twitch to betray nerves. He just reaches inside his jacket, fingers smooth, and flashes the pair of Sapphire badges, stamped council bright, the ones they gave us after the first night, the ones that say we’re useful but not family, trusted but not owned. His face is all calm amusement, not even a smirk, as if this whole thing is nothing but a tedious errand he’s had to run a thousand times before.
He doesn’t give them a speech. He doesn’t lower his eyes. Just, “Problem?” That’s it. The word lands flat, bored, so efficient it almost stings. It’s not a challenge, not a plea, just a fact. I see the guards look at each other, weighing the badges and the uniforms. They see the calculation and know what’s in it. They shrug, almost in sync, like two dogs who’ve learned to read the weight of a stick.
“Welcome back, sir. Miss,” says the old one, and steps aside. The younger lets his eyes linger a second too long on me, cat curiosity, maybe more, but I give him a look that promises trouble and he drops his gaze, flushing, pretending he was interested in a spot of dust by his boot.
Inside is warmer, stuffier, full of life. The great hall’s alive with noise, laughter, boots, a card game in one corner, the scrape of chairs and the distant hiss of oil lamps. The ceiling’s hung with faded banners, some so old the guild’s colours have bled into grey. A couple of familiar faces glance our way, a flash of recognition in the eye, a polite nod or two. Most just go back to their business. Nobody here wants trouble unless it comes with coin or stories.
I walk just behind Master, one step off his shoulder, letting the borrowed uniform hang loose over my hips, tail flicking behind me with every stride. I keep my ears high, my eyes moving, every sound, every scent, every thread of conversation brushing across my senses.
We reach the second floor corridor, just outside the council chambers. He pauses for a second, glancing down at me, just the smallest twitch of his eyebrow. That’s all the permission I need to draw close, nuzzle his arm, tail wrapping tighter, my body flush to his side. The corridor’s quiet.
I purr, low and satisfied, voice a whisper for his ear only. “You see the way they looked at us? Like they know we don’t fit, but they can’t quite say why.” I grin, showing my teeth, letting my pride shine through the mask. “Let them gossip. Let them guess. They’ll never know the half of it.”.
We stride through the council doors without waiting, without knocking, without so much as a glance for the guards at our backs. The room is a sea of blue and silver, half a dozen councilors hunched around their heavy table, deep in tense, whispered negotiations with a pair of unfamiliar faces, the room freezes, all eyes turning on us, the chill of sudden threat sparking through the air.
Steel flashes, three of the councilors’ guards, quick on the draw, blades half out of their sheaths, faces taut with suspicion. The tension hangs so thick I can feel it, every muscle in my body singing with the urge to leap, to bite, to drive my claws into the first idiot who tries to get between us and our due.
But Master doesn’t even blink. He doesn’t spare a glance for the swords or the threats or the startled hush. He walks straight up to the table, unbothered, every inch the man who knows what he’s owed. Without a word, he slams the sheaf of documents down in the dead centre of the council’s polished wood.
I’m right behind him, breathless with adrenaline and leftover laughter, wild from the aftertaste of blood and victory. My tail lashes, ears flattened, grin sharp. I drop my own bundle of evidence, maps, ledgers, envelopes, on top of his, the papers skittering across the table, a careless, taunting gesture. My laugh splits the room, high and unhinged, echoing off the walls as I bare my teeth at anyone who dares to meet my gaze. I want them to know how close the day came to ruin, how wild I can be, how thin the leash is that keeps me from turning the whole city upside down.
The one who sent us recognises us instantly. His jaw tightens, eyes narrowing with annoyance and something sharper, but he doesn’t challenge Master. He knows better than to waste time on scolding, not with half the council and two strangers watching. With a resigned sigh, he reaches into his pouch, counts out the coins, our cut, no more, no less, and slides them across the table with a curt, businesslike nod.
No ceremony. No speeches. No thank you. He wants us gone, the sooner the better. I catch the glint in his eye, resentment, pride, maybe a flicker of grudging respect. It only makes me laugh harder, tossing my hair, tail whipping with wild delight.
Master gathers the coins in a single motion. He turns on his heel, never once glancing back at the startled council or the swords lowering.
I’m already at his side, nearly skipping, eyes wild, still grinning as we sweep back through the heavy doors. No one dares block our path. No one tries to stop us. We came in like a storm, and we leave just as sudden.
Outside the meeting room, the tension dissolves, replaced by a bright, biting rush of satisfaction. I lean into Master, purring, tail snaking around his arm. “See how they scatter, Master? Give them a taste of chaos and watch them trip over their own boots.” My laughter is softer now, private, for him alone.
We slip back into the room just as the last light dies behind the shutters, the door thudding shut behind us. My tail is still lashing with leftover triumph, ears pinned forward, every hair on my body thrumming with the need to keep Master close. I follow him to the narrow bed, shedding the stiff borrowed uniform in a single impatient wriggle, letting it pool on the floor.
I curl myself around him the instant he sits, knees folding, body molding to his side, tail looping tight around his waist twice over, anchoring him to me. My head drops to his shoulder, cheek rubbing slow, deliberate circles, scenting him again and again until the room reeks of us and nothing else. They left food on the side table, stale bread, hard cheese, a few strips of dried meat, and I tear into it with greedy little growls, shoving twice as much into my mouth as he takes, chewing noisily.
I’m halfway through gnawing a chunk of cheese, legs tangled with his, tail flicking lazy figure eights across his hip, when the door explodes inward with a splintering crack that makes my ears snap flat against my skull.
Three guild guards fill the doorway, armor half fastened, faces twisted with rage and certainty. The biggest one has his sword already drawn, the others flanking with hands on hilts, eyes locked on us, on the blood we washed off but can’t quite hide from men who know what murder smells like. One of them snarls something about a body found in the rival guildhall, throat cut, drawers ransacked. Their meaning is clear, they know. They followed the trail straight to us.
The rage hits me like lightning, white hot and blinding. My vision tunnels, every muscle coiling. No one comes into our space. No one threatens him. No one.
In one fluid surge I’m off the bed, snatching my copper iron spear from where it leans against the wall, kite shield already strapped to my left forearm with a practiced snap. My tail bristles to twice its size, ears flattened to razor slits, lips peeling back from sharp teeth in a snarl that rips out of me low and feral. I plant myself squarely in front of Master, shield raised, spear leveled at the lead guard’s throat, the tip trembling with the need to drive forward and open him from jaw to gut.
My voice comes out a venomous hiss, barely human, dripping with manic promise. “You kick in our door? You dare point iron at my Master?” The spear twitches. “Come one step closer and I’ll paint these walls with every drop you have. I’ll wear your guts like ribbons and laugh while I do it.”
My tail lashes hard enough to whistle through the air, knocking the bedside lamp to the floor with a crash. I shift my stance wider, shield angled to cover Master completely, body coiled to lunge. The room reeks of adrenaline and the faint copper memory of earlier blood.
The instant Master’s hand settles on my shoulder, heavy, steady, absolute, every coiled muscle in my body melts into trembling submission even as the rage keeps boiling under my skin. His fingers press just hard enough to remind me who owns every breath I take, and my spear dips a fraction, the killing point wavering away from the lead guard’s throat. My tail, still bushed out in fury, lashes once more before it curls tight around his wrist, looping twice, anchoring itself to him. My ears stay flat, lips still peeled back in a snarl, but the growl rumbling in my chest shifts pitch, sliding into a jagged, reverent purr that vibrates against his palm.
He speaks, voice low and cool, that perfect noir drawl that makes my knees weak and my claws flex with adoration. Calm. Untouchable
“We got the job done,” he says, words drifting out lazy and precise. “Clean intel, clean extraction. Anyone outside this guild couldn’t possibly know the details. What’s a little guild on guild violence? Happens every week. Sapphire shouldn’t flinch about enforcing their own laws, that’s literally how merchant cross works. Laws shift the second you cross a guild line. Always have.”
The guards shift, uncertain, swords half raised but suddenly looking ridiculous. I feel their confidence crack like cheap pottery under the weight of his bored certainty. My chest swells with manic pride, tail squeezing his wrist harder, fur bristling along my spine because he’s right, he’s always right, and these insects dared to barge in here thinking they could touch what’s his.
I lean back into his hand, pressing my shoulder blade against his fingers, rubbing slow and shameless, marking myself with his touch while my eyes stay locked on the intruders. The spear lifts again, steady now, tip glinting as I angle the shield to cover him completely. My voice drops to a velvet hiss, dripping venom and devotion in equal measure.
“You heard my Master,” I purr, the words curling out sweet and lethal. “Take your little swords and your little accusations and crawl back to whatever hole you came from. Because if you don’t, I’ll gut every last one of you right here, and he’ll watch me do it without spilling a drop of his drink.”
My tail tightens around his arm, possessive, obsessive, refusing to let even an inch of space exist between us. Ears twitch forward just enough to catch the stutter in their breathing, the faint clink of armor as they realize the mistake they’ve made. I bare my fangs in a grin that promises slow, exquisite pain, body trembling with the effort of holding back only because his hand is still on me, grounding me, owning me.
The leader’s face twists red, but before he can bark out another threat Master’s voice cuts through again. “What violence?” he says, utterly flat, like he’s commenting on the weather. “Either bang us to rights or let it get buried with every other bit of dirt this city’s choking on. Your call.”
The words hang in the shattered doorway. Then he spits on the floorboards, a wet, defeated sound. “Clumsy,” he snarls, voice thick with disgust. “Sloppy work. Next time you leave less of a trail, or don’t come back wearing our colors.”
They file out fast, boots thudding down the corridor, the broken door left hanging off its hinges like a warning no one will ever dare repeat. The second their footsteps fade my spear clatters to the floor, shield thudding after it. I don’t care about weapons anymore, I only care about him.
I launch myself at Master with a ragged, desperate sound torn straight from my chest, arms locking around his neck, legs wrapping his waist so hard he has to catch me or let me drag him down. My tail lashes once, twice, then coils tight around his torso, binding us. My face burrows into the crook of his neck, nose dragging hard along his skin, inhaling deep lungfuls of his scent.
My breath comes hot and shaky against his pulse, lips brushing the vein that beats only for me. “You sent them running,” I whisper, voice cracked and reverent, manic adoration dripping from every syllable. “You made them choke on their own rules and crawl away.” I drag my tongue slow up the side of his neck. “All mine. My brilliant, untouchable Master. No one takes you from me. No one.”
