The schoolyard was loud, chaotic—voices overlapping in a blur of species and status. But Edwin could feel the silence aimed at him. It came in stares, in muttered words just loud enough to catch, in the slight pullback of others when he walked by like trauma was contagious.
Alex walked beside him, ears twitching as if on high alert. He wasn’t saying much. He didn’t have to.
They were nearly at the class doors when John Arundel stepped in their path, wearing that lazy smirk that made Edwin’s skin crawl. He didn’t come alone—he never did. His entourage hovered behind him like loyal shadows.
“Well if it isn’t the noble brothers,” John said. “Or should I say, the charity case and the disappointment.”
Edwin kept walking, not acknowledging him.
John wasn’t finished. “Where’s your little pet fox, Edwin? The runaway? The one from Cabarita?”
That stopped Edwin cold.
John’s grin widened like he’d found the exact nerve to press. “Oh, I get it now. She was a slave. You were a slave. Trauma makes people do weird things. It’s kind of adorable, in a tragic way.”
“Leave her out of this,” Edwin said, voice low.
John circled around them, voice carrying just enough to draw attention. “What, you don’t think it’s worth talking about? A fox from Cabarita—collared and broken, probably still flinching when someone raises a hand. And she’s into you?” He barked a laugh. “Guess when you’re both rejects, you cling to whatever scraps of affection you can find.”
Alex bristled beside him. John kept pushing.
“Funny thing is, everyone knows. That’s what makes it worse. They whisper about you two. ‘The rabbit and the fox.’ It’s like a sad joke. And you—” he pointed at Edwin, “—you don’t even get that you’re just repeating what made you. You only exist because some predator decided your mother was worth taking. Maybe that’s why you like Lila—she’s just like you. Born from someone else's power trip.”
Edwin’s jaw tightened. His fists clenched at his sides.
“Say that again,” he said.
John leaned in, satisfied. “I said, it’s fitting. You’re just another product of cruelty. You and her. Doesn’t matter how many castles you walk through, Edwin. You’ll never stop smelling like the mines.”
Alex stepped forward, voice low but clear. “If I were the lord, I’d let her be with him. She doesn’t deserve to be enslaved like your mom in a castle.”
The words landed like a slap. Edwin flinched—not at John, but at Alex.
“I see her every day,” Edwin said. “Carrying trays. Scrubbing stone. Bowing her head like she’s apologizing for breathing.”
John laughed as he turned away, tossing one last jab over his shoulder. “Better not get too close to that fox, Edwin. You might end up right back where you started.”
A teacher nearby glanced their way but said nothing. The crowd moved on. But the words didn’t.
Edwin stood there, breathing slow and shallow, like he’d been gut-punched.
Alex stood beside him, then said, “He’s wrong.”
Edwin shook his head faintly. “He’s cruel. That doesn’t mean he’s wrong.”
A pause. Then Alex spoke again.
“You used me.”
Edwin looked at him, surprised.
“You used me as your student,” Alex said. “So you could buy your mom and siblings out. I knew it. I let it happen. But I don’t think our dad would’ve let it stand if he knew.”
Edwin’s voice was tight. “And what was I supposed to do, Alex? Just watch them rot? Pretend being noble means anything if I couldn’t even save the people I love?”
Alex looked away. “I didn’t say I blamed you. I just... I didn’t know how much it would cost after.”
Edwin nodded slowly. “Neither did I.”
The school bell rang, sharp and cold. But neither of them moved.
They stood there, side by side, not ready for the next lesson.
Back at home, the sun was beginning to slip behind the castle’s tall spires, casting long golden shadows across the stone floors.
Edwin sat in his room, half-changed out of his school clothes, the collar of his tunic loose and his eyes staring blankly out the window. The day clung to him like sweat—John’s words, Nolan’s warnings, the heavy swirl of things he couldn’t unhear.
There was a soft knock, then the quiet creak of the door.
Lila stepped in hesitantly, still in her work clothes, ears lowered and eyes searching.
“Sorry,” she said, standing just inside the doorway. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Edwin looked up, startled but not annoyed. His expression softened instantly. “You’re not intruding.”
She stepped further inside, closing the door gently behind her.
“It’s just... Nolan and John,” Edwin said, running a hand through his fur. “They got into my head again.”
Lila waited.
“Nolan,” he went on, “he said something. About you. About me. He said I don’t understand consent. That you’d have to teach me. That I’d hurt you. That I’d be like... like him.”
Lila’s breath caught, her hands tightening around the edge of her apron.
Edwin stood, not to confront, but to breathe better. “I like you. I do. I don’t know if it’s the right time or if we’re old enough for any of this, but people say you like me too. And maybe they’re right. But I’d never—”
“I know,” Lila said gently, stepping closer. “You’re not him, Edwin. You’re not Nolan. And you’re not the captain who hurt your mother.”
He exhaled, shaking his head. “It’s just... I keep thinking that maybe I was made out of someone else’s violence. That it’s in me somewhere, waiting.”
Lila placed a hand over his. “You were made from your mother’s strength. And you’ve chosen everything else since.”
They stood in silence, inches apart.
“If something ever happens between us,” she said, “it won’t be because of what anyone else says or fears. It’ll be because we chose it. Together.”
Edwin nodded slowly, voice rough. “Together.”
And in that moment, the fear in him didn’t vanish—but it quieted.
Because Lila hadn’t just stepped into his room.
She’d stepped into his life—and stayed.
The room had fallen into a heavy quiet, the kind that felt earned, like breath after drowning. But the silence didn’t last.
Edwin looked down at their hands, at Lila’s fingers resting over his, and then back up at her eyes. Something deep and unsettled surfaced.
“Still,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “I was born because my mom was hurt.”
Lila didn’t move.
“And maybe...” He hesitated. “Maybe you were born because a prey hurt your mom.”
Lila’s expression didn’t change, not at first. But her hand slowly withdrew from his, folding into itself.
“I don’t know,” she said, after a moment. “No one ever told me. My mother never spoke about how I came to be. Just that she never got to choose much of anything.”
Edwin nodded slowly, his voice tight. “Same.”
They sat there, side by side, not touching now. Just sharing the weight of a history they didn’t ask for.
“So how did you know?” Lila asked, her voice quieter than before. “About... your father?”
Edwin’s jaw tightened. He looked away for a second, then back at her. “When I was freeing them—my mom, my siblings—there were records. Paperwork. Cold, legal words to justify everything. And in one of them, it said that my father—the ferret captain—‘used her like a toy.’”
He swallowed hard. “That I was the result. That he’s my brother’s father, too. Marcus’s.”
Lila’s eyes widened slightly. “Marcus doesn’t know?”
Edwin shook his head. “Not really. I mean... I think he suspects something. But I don’t think he’s ready to know what it means.”
He paused, then added, “My adoptive brother Alex knows. He was helping. He’s the one who taught me how to read the records, how to make sense of the system. I wouldn’t have gotten my family out without him.”
Lila looked down. “That’s... a lot.”
“Yeah.”
They sat in silence again.
“But we’re here,” Lila said at last. “Not because of what they did—but in spite of it.”
Edwin looked at her, searching for something solid to hold on to.
“And we get to choose what comes next.”
This time, he didn’t say anything. He just nodded—and stayed.
