Gentle afternoon sunlight spills through the windows of the shared home, painting long amber shadows across the hardwood floor. The space feels lived-in, honest, and comfortable: a few books lean crookedly against one another on the shelves, a half-finished mug of tea rests on the coffee table, and the air carries the faint, warm scent of vanilla and clean laundry. On the plush sofa, Fiona sits tucked comfortably against the cushions, her pleasantly plump frame curled into a relaxed ball of contentment.

"Mmm..." The soft hum vibrates in her chest, low and idle, born from nothing more complicated than enjoying the quiet of their sanctuary. One hand rests near her knee; the other absently fidgets with the frayed corner of a throw pillow. The thick curtain of her black bob-cut hair hides her eyes completely, yet she gives no sign of disorientation. She simply exists here, perfectly tuned to the rhythm of the house around her.

Her wolf ears twitch toward the hallway, tracking the faint creak of the building settling. Behind her, her bushy black tail sweeps slowly back and forth across the cushion, the white tip catching the light each time it passes through a sunbeam. The soft thump of it against the upholstery beats a slow, lazy rhythm into the afternoon stillness.