Rowen stepped closer, crouching down to the cat's level.
"It's okay," he said again, voice steady. "I'm going to pick you up now."
The cat's ears twitched. She let out a weak hiss but didn't have the strength to run. Her body stayed tense, legs tucked in tightly.
Rowen reached out carefully, sliding one arm under her chest and the other under her back legs. Her fur was thick and pitch black, warm but rough in places—probably from a tough fight.
She flinched when he lifted her, raising her claws in warning. She didn't strike, but the message was clear: Don't try anything.
"You're heavier than you look," he muttered.
He made sure not to bump her injured leg as he carried her through the side alley to the shop.
The night was quiet. The only sound was Fern humming behind him.
Inside, the shop lights were dim. Rowen shut the back door, locked it, and gently laid the cat on the main table.
