Day two started the same way as day one.
I arrived at dawn with the puppies and fresh meat. Commander Vane was there again, though this time with fewer soldiers. Either he was getting bored watching me sit on the floor, or he was starting to think I might not die immediately. Hard to tell which.
"Morning," I said as I passed him.
He grunted in response. "The cub ate all the meat you left yesterday. Tore apart the cloth wrapping too. Aggressive feeding."
"Means it was hungry. That's good. Hunger is motivation."
"Or it's storing energy to rip your throat out today."
"Always the optimist, Commander."
I caught what might have been the ghost of a smile on his face before he turned away.
The guard unlocked cell seven, and I stepped inside with my bag of supplies. The shadow panther cub was already awake, pacing in tight circles at the back of its cage. The chain scraped against stone with each movement.
When the door closed behind me, the cub stopped pacing. Its silver eyes locked onto me immediately.
I sat down in the same spot as yesterday and pulled out the puppies. Luna was more awake today, immediately trying to investigate the interesting smells in the room. Thor sneezed at the dusty floor. Maxwell curled up against my leg and went back to sleep.
"Morning," I said to the cub in that same soft, calm tone. "Remember me? We're back."
The cub's ears flicked forward. That was new. Yesterday, they'd been flat against its head the entire time.
I pulled out the first piece of meat and tossed it. The cub caught it mid-air again, those reflexes inhumanly fast. It ate while watching me, less defensive than yesterday but still wary.
Good. Wariness I could work with. Terror was harder.
"You know," I said conversationally, tossing another piece, "where I come from, I worked with a lot of scared animals. Dogs mostly, but some cats too. There was this one dog—German Shepherd mix, beautiful animal—who'd been used in dog fights. They'd starved him, beat him, made him fight for scraps of food."
The cub tilted its head slightly, listening. Or maybe I was projecting. Either way, talking helped me stay calm, and calm was contagious.
"When we got him out, he wouldn't let anyone near him. Bit three people in the first week. They wanted to put him down, said he was too dangerous." I tossed more meat. "But I saw something in his eyes. Under all that fear and anger, there was just... exhaustion. He was so tired of fighting."
The cub had moved closer to the bars now. Not quite halfway, but closer than yesterday.
"Took me two months to get him to take food from my hand. Another month before he'd let me touch him." I smiled at the memory. "Six months later, he was a therapy dog visiting children's hospitals. Gentle as could be. He just needed someone to show him that not all humans were monsters."
Luna wandered too close to the cage bars. I scooped her up quickly, my heart jumping. The cub watched the movement but didn't lunge or growl. Its eyes followed Luna with what looked like curiosity.
"You like puppies?" I asked the cub. "They're pretty hard not to like. Useless for anything except being adorable, but sometimes that's enough."
I set Luna back down, keeping her close to me. Then I did something risky.
I tossed a piece of meat closer to the bars. Only about three feet from where I sat.
The cub stared at it, then at me. I could see the calculation in its eyes, the weighing of risk versus reward. It wanted the meat, but coming that close to me...
"It's okay," I said softly. "I won't hurt you. Promise."
The cub took one step. Then another. Its body was low to the ground, ready to bolt. The chain dragged behind it, a constant reminder of its captivity.
It reached the meat and grabbed it, but instead of retreating, it stayed there. Right at the bars, less than six feet from where I sat.
We stared at each other.
This close, I could see the details I'd missed before. The cub wasn't just thin—it was malnourished. Its ribs showed through its fur, and the collar had rubbed raw wounds into its neck. Its six legs were disproportionate, like a teenager going through a growth spurt. The gray spots on its fur were fading, probably would disappear entirely as it matured.
It was just a baby. A traumatized, dangerous baby, but still just a baby.
"I'm going to help you," I said quietly. "But I need you to trust me. Just a little bit. Can you do that?"
The cub's tail twitched once. Not quite a wag, not quite aggressive. Something in between.
I pulled out another piece of meat, larger this time. Instead of tossing it, I held it in my hand and slowly extended my arm toward the bars. Not through them—I wasn't stupid—but close enough that the cub could reach it if it wanted.
"Come on," I coaxed. "You can do it."
The cub stared at my hand for a long moment. I could see its nostrils flaring, smell the meat. It wanted it. But taking food from a human's hand...
Behind me, I heard the observation window slide open slightly. Vane and his soldiers, watching. Waiting to see if I'd lose a hand.
The cub took a step closer to the bars.
Then another.
Its muzzle pushed through the gap between two bars, stretched toward my hand. I stayed perfectly still, barely breathing.
The cub's teeth closed around the meat. Gently. It could have taken my fingers off—those jaws were powerful enough. But it didn't. It just took the meat and pulled back, eating while maintaining eye contact.
"Good," I breathed. "Good job. That was brave."
Something shifted in the cub's expression. Not quite trust, but maybe the beginning of it. Recognition that I was different from the other humans. That I wasn't here to hurt it.
I fed it three more pieces like that, hand to mouth through the bars. Each time, the cub was a little less hesitant, a little more confident.
By the time I ran out of meat, the cub was sitting at the bars, watching me with something other than fear in its eyes.
Progress. Small, fragile progress. But progress nonetheless.
"Same time tomorrow?" I asked as I gathered the puppies. "I'll bring more food. Maybe we can work on that collar. It looks painful."
The cub made a sound—not quite a growl, not quite a chirp. Something in between.
I chose to interpret it as agreement.
Outside the cell, Vane was waiting with crossed arms. His expression was still skeptical, but there was something else there now too. Uncertainty, maybe.
"It ate from your hand," he said flatly.
"Yes."
"That's... unusual."
"That's trust. The beginning of it, anyway." I looked back at the cell door. "Tomorrow, I want to try removing the collar. It's too tight, and the wounds are infected. It's causing unnecessary pain."
"You want to go into the cage?" Vane's eyebrows shot up. "With a shadow panther? Even a cub?"
"Eventually, yes. But not tomorrow. Tomorrow, I just need the chain lengthened so I can reach through the bars. And medical supplies. Clean water, bandages, something for infection."
Vane studied me for a long moment. "You're either very brave or very stupid. I haven't decided which yet."
"Can't it be both?"
This time, he definitely smiled. Just a little.
"I'll have what you need ready tomorrow," he said. "Try not to die."
"I'll do my best, Commander."
As I walked back to the temple with Sera and the puppies, I felt something I hadn't felt since arriving in this world: hope.
Small victories. That's what training was built on. A thousand small victories that eventually added up to something bigger.
One piece of meat at a time. One moment of trust at a time.
We'd get there.