The survivors huddled in the lobby like animals unsure whether the cage door had opened or simply changed shape.
They had food now. Water. Blankets scavenged from Victor's space. The initial shock had worn off just enough for voices to rise, for spines to straighten, for entitlement to creep in where fear used to live.
The first complaint came from the wolfhound matron.
She was older, broad-shouldered, salt and pepper fur framing a face carved by authority she no longer officially possessed. She planted herself near the front desk like it was a podium and crossed her arms.
"As is right by the laws," she said loudly, voice carrying, "we all have equal claim to this place. No one group gets special treatment."
A few murmurs of agreement followed, Victor, watching from the upper stairs, didn't move.
On his quiet signal, Felicity went down.
She didn't do it reluctantly. That was the problem.
She descended the steps with careful confidence, tail swaying behind her, hands already warm with healing energy she hadn't consciously summoned. The moment she stepped into the survivors' circle, every head turned.
Not hunger.
Expectation.
Like she was a service they'd paid for.
Her ears twitched, but she kept her spine straight and her voice gentle. "I'm here to check for injuries," she said. "If you need help, please line up."
The wolfhound's mate stepped forward immediately, rolling his knee theatrically. "This thing's been killing me all day," he said, flashing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Get your hands on it, sweetheart. We don't have all night."
Felicity paused.
Her tail flicked once.
"I'll need to clear it with Victor and Voss first," she replied politely.
The man chuckled, dismissive. "Just heal me. That's what pearls are supposed to do."
The word landed wrong.
Heat flared behind Felicity's eyes, sharp and fast, but she swallowed it down. She knelt anyway, hands settling over his knee, golden light blooming softly. She worked efficiently, precisely.
But she noticed the children.
Two fox kits stood off to the side, watching with wide, silent eyes. One clutched his arm at an odd angle. The other hid half behind a crate, silver fur catching the light. When Felicity smiled at them, the smaller one darted forward and grabbed the tip of her tail.
She didn't pull away.
The healing took seconds.
The man sighed in relief, flexing his leg. His hand lingered on her forearm a second too long, She stood smoothly, stepping back before it could become a thing.
By nightfall, she'd treated a dozen small injuries, set three broken bones, soothed fevers, and quietly rationed her own energy so she wouldn't collapse again.
The complaints didn't stop.
The wolfhound matron cornered her near the stairwell.
"Your group's hoarding," she snapped. "Food. Space. And her." She jabbed a finger toward Felicity. "She should be down here. On call. Not wasted upstairs on muscleheads."
The words cut deeper than Felicity expected.
She didn't argue. She just nodded, smiled once, and retreated.
Voss caught her when her knees buckled.
He had been stirring something on a hotplate when she stumbled into the vault, her exhaustion finally winning. He dropped the spoon instantly and caught her around the waist, lifting her like she weighed nothing.
"Hey," he said softly. "Easy."
Victor was there a heartbeat later, eyes sharp. "What happened."
"Entitled," Felicity muttered, leaning back against Voss without realizing it. "They want me healing full time. One called me 'pearl' like it's not my name."
Voss snorted, but there was no humor in it. "You know what pearls were, right?"
She shook her head.
"Rare healer girls in old games," he said. "Code for property."
Victor's jaw tightened.
"You stay up here," Voss added quietly. "Unless you're with one of us."
Felicity hesitated. "The kids down there… they've got talent. High levels already. Five, maybe six years old."
Voss considered. "Victor'll want them."
"Don't call them monsters," she snapped, sharper than she meant to.
He blinked, then shrugged. "Give them winter. We'll see."
When Victor came through on his rounds, he listened without interrupting.
"We set the rules early," he said finally. "They cross them, they leave. Kids move to second floor. Hidden."
"And the women," Felicity asked softly.
Victor paused. "They'll keep," he said. "If they don't, I'll handle it."
She trusted that promise.
The breaking point came quietly.
Raised voices in the lobby. Not shouting. Yet.
Victor felt it before anyone reported it. He stopped mid step. "Stay here."
Felicity caught his wrist. "I should hear it too."
He searched her face, then nodded. "Then you stay behind me."
The lobby had changed.
Survivors stood now, clustered together. The wolfhound matron was front and center, chin lifted.
"This arrangement isn't sustainable," she said loudly. "We're rationed while you feast. You've got floors we're barred from. And her," she gestured sharply at Felicity, "she's being wasted upstairs when people are hurting."
A murmur rippled.
Victor stepped forward. The air cooled.
"This isn't a democracy," he said calmly. "You were given shelter. Not authority."
"You don't get to decide who owns her time," the matron snapped. "She heals. That makes her essential to everyone."
Felicity's eyes stung.
Her fingers curled into the back of Victor's shirt without thinking.
Victor moved, In two strides he had the matron pinned against the counter, grip firm, undeniable. The room shrank back.
"Pearls," he said clearly, "don't belong to anyone."
Felicity stepped forward.
"My healing costs energy," she said, voice shaking but steady. "I collapsed last night because you wouldn't stop demanding. That ends now."
A rat snarled. "So what, we beg."
"No," Felicity said. "You wait. You ask. And you accept no."
"And if we don't."
Victor didn't raise his voice. "You die. Tonight."
Silence.
"…Fine," the matron muttered.
They left without ceremony.
Back in the vault, the tension broke, Victor pressed his forehead to the door for a breath, then turned.
"You shouldn't have had to do that," he said, cupping Felicity's face.
"I wanted to," she replied. "I needed them to hear it from me."
Something softened in him. He pulled her into his chest, arms firm, protective, restrained.
Voss watched from a few steps away, eyes never leaving her.
Later, as the camp settled, Felicity found herself sitting beside Rhys, the rangy antlered beastman, sharing bread.
"You're too nice," he said quietly. "That's dangerous."
She smiled faintly. "I was an only child. My family didn't really… like me. I learned early that if I cared enough, maybe I'd matter."
Rhys swallowed. "You matter now."
Across the room, Giddy hovered near Rose, pretending to sharpen something that didn't need sharpening.
Rose caught him staring. "If you keep that up, I'm charging rent."
He grinned, unabashed.
Later still, Felicity curled against Victor's side without thinking, exhaustion dragging her down. Voss sat opposite, watching, eyes soft, attentive.
At some point, her tail brushed his arm.
She froze.
He didn't move.
Then, slowly, carefully, he rested his hand over it.
No claim. No pressure.
Just… there.
And Felicity, for the first time, didn't pull away.
Night settled deeper into the bank, the kind of quiet that wasn't peace so much as exhaustion finally winning. Lantern light pooled in soft circles across marble floors, shadows stretching long and indistinct. The survivors slept in uneasy clusters below. Snow Team rotated watches without needing to be told.
Felicity remained where she was, curled on a thick blanket near the vault wall, knees drawn in, tail tucked neatly around her legs like a habit she'd had all her life. She told herself she was resting.
She was listening.
Victor paced the upper hall, boots measured, presence constant. Every few minutes he glanced her way, eyes flicking to confirm she was still there, still breathing, still safe. He never hovered. Never crowded. Just… existed close enough that the world felt less sharp.
Voss leaned against a pillar across the space, arms crossed, gaze fixed on nothing and everything. Mostly her.
He'd noticed the change.
It was small. Easy to miss if you weren't watching carefully. The way she'd spoken back downstairs. The way she hadn't apologized afterward. The way she'd curled into Victor without asking permission, like it was simply where she belonged.
Most females learned to disappear.
Felicity didn't.
She softened. She stayed. And somehow that made her more dangerous than defiance ever could.
She shifted in her sleep, a quiet sound escaping her throat, half sigh, half breath. Voss went still. His jaw tightened as something hot and protective twisted low in his chest. Not lust. Not yet.
Resolve.
If anyone else had been awake, they would have felt it too. The way his posture changed. The way the air around him seemed to settle, like a predator choosing territory.
Victor stopped pacing.
Their eyes met across the room.
No challenge. No hostility.
Just acknowledgment.
Voss inclined his head a fraction. I see her. Victor's response was just as minimal. I know.
Felicity stirred again, eyes fluttering open. She blinked, disoriented, then immediately relaxed when she spotted Victor. Her shoulders loosened, tension draining like it had never belonged to her in the first place.
"Oh," she murmured. "You're still here."
Victor crouched beside her. "Always."
She hesitated, then sat up a little straighter. Not much. Just enough. "I think," she said quietly, fingers twisting together, "I can help more tomorrow. Not just healing. Planning, maybe. If you want."
Victor studied her for a long moment.
Then he nodded. "We'll start small."
Relief softened her expression, a shy smile blooming like she hadn't expected to be taken seriously. She tucked herself back down, reassured.
As her breathing evened out again, Voss finally moved.
He crossed the space in silence and stopped a careful distance away, kneeling so he wasn't looming. He didn't touch her this time. Didn't pat her head. Didn't test the boundary.
"I'll take next watch," he said quietly, more to Victor than to the room.
Victor nodded once.
Voss stayed there long after his shift technically ended, eyes trained on the fox curled safely between stone and steel, something old and territorial settling into his bones.
Not because he wanted to take her.
Because someone would try.
And when they did, they'd learn exactly how much damage devotion could do.