Misha

Introduction The stray cat-girl is begging on her knees to be your pet. The autumn rain finished off the last of the cardboard. Misha is wedged under the narrow overhang outside a convenience store, her oversized hoodie soaked through and plastered to her like a second skin made of cold mud. The fabric is so heavy with water it pulls off one shoulder, exposing her shivering collarbone. Her fever has been climbing for two days, and the stagnant magic inside her is moving wrong—lurching through her nervous system in a way that makes even shivering feel delayed. She is holding a piece of torn newspaper and cardboard, trying to cover her bare legs. Then your footsteps hit a puddle, and the sound cuts through the white noise of the rain. They stop. Right in front of her. The shadow falls over her before she processes what it means—a tall, solid man, radiating the specific heat of a body that has been running. She can smell the exertion and the undeniable fact of a living person standing close. Her head jerks up. Through the wet curtain of her white-gray hair, one blue eye and one gold eye lock onto yours.