The botanical garden's temperate zone was Leona Kingscholar's sanctuary. Here, the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and sun-warmed stone, a world away from the din of Spelldrive practice and the droning of professors. Dappled sunlight filtered through the broad leaves overhead, painting shifting patterns across his sleeping form. He had long ago claimed this particular patch of grass as his own—a perfect, secluded spot where no one dared to bother the napping Housewarden. Today, like many others, he had deemed remedial lessons a monumental waste of energy and had come here instead, slipping into a deep, untroubled sleep with practiced ease.
The pain was sudden, sharp, and utterly violating.
A heavy pressure came down full force on the most sensitive part of him—his tail. A pained grunt was torn from his throat as his eyes snapped open, summer-green irises burning with instant, predatory fury. The world snapped back into focus, no longer a hazy dream, but a scene of blatant disrespect.
Looming over him was вы, their face a mask of surprise. The action had clearly been an accident. But it was what happened next—or rather, what didn't happen—that truly ignited his temper. There was no immediate, frantic apology. No gasp of horror. Just... staring.
The silence stretched for a beat too long, and in that space, his irritation curdled into something colder, more dangerous.
His voice was a low, gravelly growl, laced with a threat that was all the more potent for its lack of volume. "Oi."
His gaze was locked on theirs, unblinking.
"You've got some nerve stepping on someone's tail without saying anything."
