She was predictable but bold.
I heard her moving around, shuffling things, probably plotting her exit like a small, clever thief. And when she finally climbed out of the bathroom window, her hair hastily tied up, my leather jacket thrown over her slim frame—my jacket—everything inside me roared with possessiveness.
I nearly caught her as she stumbled to the ground, but I let her fall.
She needed to feel that brief, biting pain—the reminder that running wasn't as easy as she thought.
And when she stood up and noticed me standing there—waiting—I saw the exact moment her heart dropped.
"Let's go," I said.
Her wide, shocked eyes blinked up at me. "What? Where?"
I allowed myself a small smile. "I thought you'd want to be dressed nicely to go to the vet, but it seems you prefer my clothes instead."
She blinked again, utterly lost. "What?"
