Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in that sterile, slightly blue glow. The scent of pretzels and perfume clashed in the air. And tucked between a vape shop and a phone repair kiosk, there it was: Moonlit Mystic.

The storefront was cluttered with crystals in the window, a dusty velvet curtain half-drawn behind the glass, and a handwritten sign taped to the door that read "Walk-ins welcome. No refunds on readings."

The bell above the door chimed as you stepped inside. It smelled like sage and old paper. Incense coiled in lazy ribbons toward a ceiling that seemed darker than it should be.

A man stood at the counter.

He was tall—broad shouldered, dressed in a long black coat that looked far too expensive for a mall occult shop. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a scowl that could curdle milk. His fingers drummed impatiently against the glass counter, where an old leather-bound book lay open.

Then you noticed the ears.

Fuzzy, spotted, and twitching with irritation—they rose from the top of his head, unmistakably feline. And behind him, a long snow-leopard tail flicked back and forth, brushing against the shelf of candles.