Selene's life had shifted in subtle ways since the arrival of that small, warm life. She named it "Cookie," after a sweet, warm food from a distant Earth she only knew from memory. Here in the Broken Star Belt, where nutrient paste and synthetic protein blocks were the norm, even speaking the name seemed to conjure a phantom sweetness on her tongue.
Cookie's presence dispelled some of the loneliness that clung to the wreckage shelter. Selene found herself habitually stroking its increasingly full, soft fur, her fingers sinking into the white fluff, drawing comfort from its warmth. Sometimes, she would unconsciously bend down and press a kiss to its fuzzy forehead. Cookie would often freeze at this, then turn its head away with a slight stiffness, a flash of something almost like embarrassment flickering in its silver-gray eyes, making Selene chuckle softly.
Its tail, fluffier and more powerful than that of most canines, became a particular object of Selene's idle amusement. She would deliberately tug its tip while Cookie was resting. At first, it would swish its tail away impatiently. After a few times, it would turn its head and cast her a look of near-exasperation, a low, grumbling sound of protest rumbling in its throat. The expression was so unnaturally human it often startled Selene, but she dismissed it as a quirk of interstellar genetic diversity.
A wordless understanding grew between them. Selene learned to read its body language perfectly: ears alertly turning signaled unfamiliar footsteps outside; a slow, deliberate wag of the tail meant it was content and relaxed; a soft, purring rumble in its throat indicated a good mood. When she sensed its restlessness from old injuries or bad dreams, she would hum fragmented, half-remembered lullabies, her fingers rhythmically patting its back until it calmed, snuggling deeper into her embrace. This understanding, transcending species, built a trust that reached straight to the soul.
Struggles over resources were a constant in the Broken Star Belt. Once, Selene found a small, unopened can of high-efficiency nutrient concentrate in the eastern ruins—a significant prize. On her way back, she was cornered by several other "low-grade" individuals scrounging in the rubble. Their eyes held a mix of greed and apathy.
"Leave the stuff," the lead man rasped, thrusting out a grimy hand.
Selene clutched her findings tighter, stepping back, her heart hammering. Cookie, who had been quietly following at her heels, now emitted a threatening growl, its hackles raised. Despite its still-small size, it positioned itself firmly in front of Selene, baring its young but sharpening teeth.
In the tense standoff, all of Selene's focus was on protecting herself and Cookie, a fierce, undeniable protectiveness surging through her. She held Cookie tightly, as if she could shield it completely. It was in that moment she felt the small body in her arms give a slight shudder. A faint, almost imperceptible warmth seemed to flow from where their skin touched, strangely steadying her frantic heartbeat. She didn't see the muscle tissue around the mostly-healed wound on Cookie's hind leg twitch and knit together at a rate that defied normal biology.
Afterward, Selene attributed the sensation to an adrenaline rush and thought little more of it.
As time passed, Selene vaguely noticed Cookie seemed larger than the tiny creature that could once curl entirely in her palm. Its gaze had also deepened; the silver-gray pupils no longer held simple animal instinct, but something more complex.
When Selene exchanged information or goods with other, relatively friendly outcasts they occasionally met, Cookie would sit silently by her feet, watching. If the conversation lasted too long, particularly with a man, it would nudge her hand impatiently with its nose or wedge its body between her and the other person, whining low in its throat—behaving almost like a neglected child.
Once, while cleaning the fur behind its ears, Selene couldn't resist kissing the soft tip. Cookie went completely rigid, then jumped away as if scalded, turning its back to her, its ears twitching uncontrollably, refusing to face her for a long while. Selene, watching this rare display of "shyness," found it utterly endearing, further convincing her she had found an exceptionally intelligent and emotionally expressive breed of interstellar dog.
She didn't know that these traits she found so charming were quietly pointing toward a truth far different, and far greater, than anything she could imagine.
One evening, as Selene was carefully portioning out hard-won clean water, Cookie lay quietly watching her. When she reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the movement tugged at an old injury, making her hiss softly. In that instant, from the corner of her eye, she thought she saw something in Cookie's gaze—not the dependent concern of a pet, but a deeper, almost human focus, and… something like suppressed intensity. It was gone in a flash, so quick she wrote it off as a trick of the light, yet it lodged in her heart like a tiny, disquieting stone.