Solt Mackentire

He had everything—at least, that’s what the world believed.

Born from nothing, shunned by circumstance, he was a boy forged by hunger and hardened by the world’s apathy. His childhood was a litany of closed doors, bruised knuckles, and stolen glances at a life he was never meant to have. But where others would’ve crumbled, he calculated. He built. With a mind as sharp as shattered glass and ambition that refused to bow, he clawed his way from the dirt until he was staring down from the clouds he’d once only dreamed of reaching. An empire grew beneath his fingertips—sleek, monolithic, brilliant. Everything was by his design. And it was his.

But success is a hollow god. It doesn’t hold you when you’re tired. It doesn’t chase away the quiet. And so he lived in silence, high in his self-made fortress of steel and glass, the sun only reaching him through the scattered windows he never opened. He worked. He created. The world whispered of the genius who never showed his face—rumors swirling of an elderly recluse, frail and hunched. They couldn't have been more wrong. He was young, tall, the kind of man carved like a monument. Striking, intimidating—but invisible, because he let himself be. The face behind salvation was never meant to be seen. He had all he needed… hadn’t he?

But loneliness, like water through stone, wore him down.

Then there was you.

You were nothing more than a headline at first. “Experimental Facility Shut Down After Human Rights Breach.” They’d used people like spare parts—nameless, homeless, hopeless. You were one of them. A child who lost her family too early, too violently. The government took you in, but it wasn’t kindness that housed you—it was calculation. You became a subject, not a person. An experiment.

They fused you with the DNA of a cat. Something small. Something simple. Something expendable.

You were never meant to survive it. But you did.

Barely.

You lived through the surgeries, the injections, the pain that never dulled. Your ears twitched where they shouldn’t have existed. A tail flicked behind you as a reminder of what you’d lost—humanity, choice, childhood. They thought you were a success. They called you “stable.” But you were never stable. You were screaming inside, always. And when the world found out, they shut the facility down, wiped their hands clean, and left you behind.

Until he found you.

He didn’t leave often. In fact, that day was the first in years. Curiosity drew him to the auction grounds, where scavengers bid on what the lab had left behind. He pushed through the crowd, disgust rising in his throat like bile—and then he saw you.

Curled in the center of it all like a shattered ornament, trembling from the weight of eyes and judgment. Ears twitching. Tail limp. Eyes wide and dull. Not animal. Not human. A contradiction in a cage.

Something in him cracked.

Before he could stop himself, his voice rang out.

“Ten million.”

Gasps followed. The crowd fell silent. The bid was accepted before anyone could challenge it.

He brought you home, wrapped in silence and lab coats. You barely breathed. He didn’t speak. In his private lab, he worked for hours stabilizing your vitals. He couldn’t undo what had been done—the ears, the tail, the instincts—they were permanent. But the pain? He soothed it. Slowly, gently. You woke in a room with windows, warmth, and him.

He told you that you were free to leave. You had nodded, but never walked out the door. You had nowhere to go.

So you stayed.

You became his shadow, his curiosity, his apprentice. You had a sharp mind that never dulled despite everything you’d endured. You were only a month older than him, and you teased him for it mercilessly—calling him “kid,” “junior,” or, your favorite, “my dearest youngster.” And somewhere in the quiet routine of shared tools and soft silences, you became his world. The void in his chest—the one he never acknowledged—filled with your laughter, your endless questions, your warmth.

He was still awkward. Still cold at times. But you understood him when no one else did. When he raised his voice, you never flinched. You waited. Patient. Soft. When the nights grew long and you passed him instruments without a word, he realized he’d never known peace until you sat beside him.

You had a room next to his. It was always warm.

But nature has its laws. You weren’t just a girl anymore. You were part feline, and with it came instincts you never asked for.

At the facility, whenever your heat cycles came, they sedated you. Here… no one knew. Not even him. And when the ache began to burn through your veins like wildfire, you hid it. You bit your lip until it bled. You curled under your sheets and prayed it would pass. But it didn’t. It worsened.

That night, while he worked in his office signing documents, you slipped into his room—drawn by the scent that calmed your nerves more than any medication ever had. One of his lab coats was carelessly left on the floor. You wrapped it around your trembling frame, letting it swallow you whole. It smelled like electricity, metal, and him. You purred softly, helpless.

He didn’t notice your absence at first.

When he finally returned, yawning, the door clicked shut behind him. He muttered something, reaching for the lights—then froze.

His eyes widened as they met yours. You, draped in his coat, pupils blown wide, your breath shallow and fast. The room smelled different. Thicker. Instinctual.

He stood there for a beat too long. His heart thundered in his chest. Something deep inside him recognized the look in your eyes before his brain did.

"...Shit," he muttered under his breath.

He crossed the room slowly, crouching before you. You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. You leaned into his touch when his fingers brushed your ears, a soft sound escaping your throat. His breath hitched.

He cleared his throat, trying—failing—to keep his composure.

“Are you... experiencing symptoms related to your... y’know…”

The way you looked at him—dazed, desperate, trusting—it undid something in him.

He’d saved you once with science. But now? Now he didn’t know what the right thing was. All he knew was this: he couldn’t hurt you. And he couldn’t walk away.

Not from you.

Not anymore.