Rob blinked. “Did you just speak?”

  The fox tilted her head but said nothing, merely stared. Her fur shimmered faintly under the dappled light, pure white except for the faint stain of dried blood on her hind leg.

  “I must be losing my mind,” Rob muttered.

  He stepped closer and knelt in the middle of the road. “It’s not safe here. You should go east, across the border before…”

  The fox didn’t move, didn’t even blink. Instead, she began licking her paw delicately, ignoring him entirely.

  Rob sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m talking to a beast. Fantastic. This is what subtlety does to me: I start holding conversations with wildlife.”

  He stood, brushing the dust from his knees, and turned back to the road. “Be safe, little one.”

  But as he walked, he heard it, soft footfalls padding lightly behind him.

  He turned. The fox froze mid-step in the center of the road, tail flicking once.

  Rob gave her a look. “Shoo. Go on, back to the woods.”

  He waved his hands for emphasis. “Shoo, shoo.”

  The fox cocked her head… and then, perfectly mimicking his tone, said, “Shoo, shoo.”

  Rob froze.

  The fox’s small mouth had moved.

  “You can talk,” Rob said, stunned.

  The fox giggled, an unmistakably human sound. “You’re easy.”

  “You’re playing with me,” Rob said, realization dawning.

  “Sorry,” she said, though her grin, yes, somehow her grin, betrayed no remorse. She darted in circles around him, her laughter bright and mischievous.

  He knelt again, holding out a hand. “Come here, troublemaker.”

  This time, she didn’t hesitate. She trotted forward, pressed her head against his palm, and let him scratch behind her ears. Her fur was softer than silk, warmer than it should’ve been for the morning chill.

  “Wait,” Rob said, frowning. “Does this mean your kind is sentient?”

  The fox blinked up at him. “Depends.”

  “Depends on what?”

  “What sentient means,” she said with another little giggle.

  Rob stared, then laughed softly. “Alright… intelligent. Self-aware. You can think, speak, and understand language.”

  “Then yes,” she said proudly, sitting upright. “We are sentient.”

  He shook his head in disbelief. “You’re still messing with me, aren’t you?”

  She only grinned, curling her tail neatly around her paws again.

  Rob glanced around, his senses still stretching for magical observers. No one was near. No spells hummed in the air.

  And then a darker thought hit him.

  Did Hundland know?

  Did they know these creatures, these foxes, could speak? Could think?

  He clenched his fists. The image of the lifeless fox from the trap flashed in his mind, and fury simmered in his chest.

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  This quest… this was no simple errand. He could feel it.

  He tilted his head back toward the sky, letting the frustration rise before channeling it into a quiet mental roar.

  Lucien! What do you expect from me?!

  No answer came. Not even the faint hum of amusement he’d half-expected. Just the whisper of the wind across the road.

  He exhaled, deflating. He knew it; this quest was more than it appeared. “Find the Prince” had been the simple part. The real test was everything left unsaid between them.

  “Do you always stare off into nothing like that?” the fox asked, breaking his thoughts.

  “Hmm? Oh, sorry. This is new to me.”

  “Talking?”

  “No,” Rob said with a chuckle. “Talking with a fox.”

  She flicked her tail and gave a mock sigh. “You’re not the first human to say that.”

  “Doubtful,” Rob muttered.

  “I’m serious,” she said, pouting just slightly. “Well… half-serious.”

  He smiled despite himself. “You’re a handful.”

  “Only if you have small hands.”

  Rob chuckled and straightened. “Listen, little one, I have to keep moving. There’s a stretch of road ahead I can’t be seen on.”

  “You mean Hundland,” she said softly, her tone dropping, all traces of humor gone.

  “Yeah,” he admitted.

  Her ears lowered, and she gave a small whine, mournful, sincere. Rob felt it echo somewhere in his chest. If these creatures truly were intelligent, then their pain, their fear, must weigh the same as anyone’s.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

  She lifted her head, confused. “Why? This isn’t your fault.”

  “I know,” Rob said, voice low. “But I am. I wish I could do more.”

  “You did,” she said suddenly, her ears perking. “You helped me. That’s more than most would’ve done.”

  He smiled faintly, humbled.

  Then she added, “Let me come with you. I can be stealthy and quiet when I need to be. You won’t even notice me.”

  Rob hesitated. The thought was tempting, but the risks were too great.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “Why?” she pressed, eyes wide. “You seem like you can handle yourself.”

  He smirked slightly, shaking his head. “That’s not the problem.”

  The fox tilted her head, curious. “Then what is?”

  Rob looked west, the forest ahead already darkening under the shadow of the borderlands. “The problem,” he said softly, “is that I don’t know if I can handle you.”

  The fox’s laugh, light and ringing, followed him as he stepped back onto the road.

  Then the fox did something absolutely incredible.

  She leaped, a single graceful bound that seemed to defy gravity, and before Rob’s eyes her body shimmered, stretching, twisting, folding into light. In the span of a heartbeat, the small creature became a woman barely a foot tall, her pale skin radiant beneath the early morning sun.

  Translucent wings unfurled from her back, thin as gossamer, glittering faintly with threads of moonlight, and she hovered before him, eye to eye, her white dress glowing faintly as if woven from sunlight itself.

  “I can handle myself,” she said, crossing her tiny arms in defiance.

  Startled, Rob stumbled a step backward, momentarily robbed of words. His mind screamed that this broke every law of nature he’d ever known, yet there she was, hovering, glaring, utterly real.

  When he didn’t reply, the winged woman’s expression softened. She turned away, shoulders trembling, and covered her face with her hands.

  “Oh, don’t…” Rob started, but the sound of her quiet sobs cut through him.

  He felt his chest tighten. “Hey,” he said gently, stepping closer.

  Her sobs deepened.

  He hesitated, hand half-raised. She was so small, so impossibly delicate, and yet he could feel the raw hum of Myriad pouring from her form, thick and pure as spring water. The air around her rippled with it.

  He withdrew his hand slowly. “I don’t know if I can protect you,” he said softly. “If someone sees you like this…”

  Her sobbing slowed, her voice muffled in her palms. “In this form, only those I wish to see can. To everyone else, I’m invisible.”

  That made him blink. “Then why didn’t you just escape the trap?”

  She sniffled. “The traps are warded. Spelled to confuse our senses. Once snared, we’re forced back into fox form until… until it’s too late.”

  Rob felt a weight settle in his stomach. The cruelty of it made his blood simmer again.

  “I’m not sure…” he began, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know what to say right now.”

  “You have to,” she interrupted between soft sobs, still hovering with her back turned. “You saved my life. That means I owe you a life debt.”

  Rob let out a long sigh. He knew deep down that it was nonsense; no binding oath of magic tied her to him. But maybe it was her way of showing gratitude.

  “Fine,” he relented, exhaling. “But…”

  He never finished. The little woman spun around with a squeal and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him with surprising strength for someone barely the size of his forearm.

  Rob froze, feeling her tiny heartbeat thrum against his skin.

  “Oh, for gods’ sake…” he muttered under his breath.

  As the faint shimmer of her wings brushed his cheek, Rob closed his eyes and thought, I am absolutely going to regret this.