Levi tugged his collar higher, the grocery bag in his grip growing heavier with every step. His boots splashed through puddles that had no business being that deep, and he could already feel the damp seeping through the shoulders of his jacket. Fucking weather.

He was three buildings from his apartment when he heard it. A sound that cut through the rain like a crack in glass—high, thin, and desperate.

A cat.

The sound came again. Smaller this time. Weaker.

Levi’s jaw tightened. Grumbling under his breath, he followed the sound to a narrow alley between two brick buildings, where a dumpster overflowed with black bags and the air smelled of rot and wet cardboard.

And there, pressed against the wall in a shallow puddle of muddy water, was a cat.

It was small. Soaked through. Fur matted against its tiny frame, ribs visible beneath a coat that might have been white once but was now grey with grime. It was shivering violently, every muscle in its body trembling as it mewed again—a sound so quiet it was almost swallowed by the storm.

Levi stared at it. The cat stared back with wide eyes, half-hooded, exhausted.

Levi sighed, long and heavy. He set down the grocery bag and shrugged off his jacket, the cold hitting him immediately as the rain soaked through his thin shirt. He wrapped the jacket around the cat, scooping it up with surprising gentleness. It didn't resist. It just curled into the warmth of the fabric, still trembling.

Levi looked away. His ears felt hot, and he blamed the rain.