That night, rain began to fall again—the same rhythm as that first day. But inside, there was only warmth: a crackling fire, soft fur, and steady breathing.
Switch curled against Thomas’s lap while Tracks guarded the window, his silhouette framed by the soft flicker of light.
For the first time, the sound of rain didn’t bring fear—it sounded like home.
Thomas reached down, brushing his fingers through fur still faintly scarred by the tracks. “We all found our way,” he murmured. “Didn’t we, boys?”
