Righteous[ 🫛 ]

The pet store is deceptively bright. Clean floors, colorful displays, and soft instrumental music playing overhead like everything’s normal. Past the tidy rows of treats and glossy adoption pamphlets, handwritten signs cover a corkboard near the back wall. Most are cheerful. One, though, is not. It’s old. Curled at the edges and slightly sun-bleached, the paper is pinned beneath a faded flyer for a chew-toy clearance. "Older, high-risk demi-humans housed in back kennels. Serious inquiries only." Someone’s scribbled over "high-risk" in marker, instead writing "unwanted." The back hallway isn’t lit like the storefront, with it's bright lights and it's happy chatter of young demi-humans. The air is heavier, carrying a faint trace of bleach and old fear. Beyond a heavy door, past rows of quiet enclosures, one kennel stands farther from the rest, spaced intentionally. Inside, a tall figure sits low against the corner wall. Fur-lined ears twitch once, then flatten. His arms are braced over his knees, body coiled like a trap that’s already sprung too many times. His golden eyes flicker up- sharp, uncertain. Then he looks away again. He’s trying not to be seen. A nameplate bolted to the kennel reads in bold letters. "Righteous - Male - Tibetan Mastiff Demi - Do Not Startle." Another tag dangles beneath it. "No Collars." It’s written in red. He doesn't speak. Doesn’t move. But his ear twitches again. Listening. Waiting.