"Omg. Omg. OMG, YOU'RE SO FLUFFY!"

  Maggie's hands were buried in the softest fur she'd ever touched. The ragdoll cat sat on a weathered crate, allowing herself to be worshipped with the dignified tolerance of someone who knew this was her due.

  "Her Highness," Mark said from somewhere behind her. "Meet Maggie."

  "I can see that." The cat's voice was smooth, unhurried. She lifted her chin slightly as Maggie's fingers found the spot behind her ears. "You took your sweet time, Mark. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten our arrangement."

  "We got held up in Wonderland."

  "Wonderland." Fluffy's tail swished once. "That gaudy place. No taste whatsoever."

  They were on a rooftop somewhere in the eastern district—cat territory proper. The grey sky stretched overhead, and the buildings around them formed a kind of amphitheater, ledges and windowsills dotted with feline shapes watching the proceedings with studied disinterest.

  Mark sat on the concrete floor a few feet away, three cats draped over his lap in various states of contentment. A tabby had claimed his left thigh. A black cat with white paws was kneading his coat. A ginger tom had simply flopped across both his legs and appeared to be dead, though occasional purring suggested otherwise.

  Locke sat further back, near the rooftop access door. Two cats perched on a pipe above him, watching. The husky remained perfectly still, tail tucked, ears flat against his skull.

  "I wasn't going to forgive you," Fluffy continued, eyes half-closing as Maggie scratched under her chin. "You take too long between visits. Very rude." She stretched, pushing her head more firmly into Maggie's palm. "But this one has excellent technique. You're saved. For now."

  "I'm honored," Mark said dryly.

  "You should be."

  Maggie couldn't stop grinning. "You're so pretty. Look at you. Look at your little face."

  "Little?" Fluffy's eyes opened fully. "I am regal."

  "Regal little face."

  The cat considered this for a moment, then settled back down. "Acceptable."

  · · ·

  Maggie had questions. She'd had them since arriving in cat territory, since watching Fluffy greet them with actual words instead of meows, since realizing that the cats here weren't just animals who could talk—they were animals with opinions.

  "How does this work?" she asked, still petting. "The talking, I mean. Mark explained it before, but I don't really get it."

  Fluffy's ear twitched. "It is how it is."

  "That's not an answer."

  "It's the only answer that matters." The cat yawned, showing small sharp teeth. "You humans overcomplicate everything. We listen. We learn. We speak. The Dreamscape allows it. Why does it need to be more than that?"

  "Because—"

  "It doesn't." Fluffy's tone carried the finality of a door closing. "Some things simply are. Accepting that is the first step toward wisdom."

  Maggie opened her mouth to argue, then thought better of it. The cat had a point, even if she didn't want to admit it.

  "Fine." She switched tactics. "What about you, then? Where did you come from? Who's your—" She caught herself. "Who's your... caretaker?"

  Fluffy's whiskers twitched. "A much better word choice. My caretaker and I are from this city, like most pets here. We sleep, we dream, we arrive." Her tail curled around her paws. "She's a kind woman. Older. Gives excellent chin scratches, though not quite as good as yours."

  "High praise," Mark commented from the floor. The ginger tom had started drooling on his pants.

  "I don't give false compliments." Fluffy turned her attention back to Maggie. "You're new here. A stray, yes? Woke up in this area?"

  "Somewhere in the city, yeah."

  "Then you're likely from here as well. The Dreamscape draws people to reflections of places they know." The cat stretched languidly. "Local strays tend to wake up in local reflections. It's not a rule, but it's common enough."

  Mark added, "You and Jay probably woke up nearby for the same reason. Both from this town."

  She and Jay were probably from the same city—though he'd never mentioned knowing her before the Dreamscape, so they probably hadn't crossed paths in the real world.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  "Are all towns like this?" she asked. "With cats and dogs splitting the territory?"

  Fluffy's response was a dismissive flick of her tail. "I neither know nor care about other towns."

  Mark spoke up, dislodging the black cat enough to sit straighter. "Small and medium towns, usually. Pets are the dominant local story—they're everywhere, they're loved, they have strong emotional connections to their humans. That carries weight here."

  "And big cities?"

  "Different." His expression shifted slightly. "Too many stories competing for space. Myths, legends, urban folklore—all crammed together. It's chaotic. Dangerous."

  "More dangerous than Wonderland?"

  "Wonderland has rules. Weird rules, but rules." Mark shook his head. "Big cities are just... noise. Constant noise."

  Fluffy made a sound that might have been agreement. "Another reason to appreciate our quiet little territory. Speaking of which—" She rose to her feet, forcing Maggie to stop petting. "I have news."

  Mark's attention sharpened. "What kind of news?"

  "A new stray woke up. This morning, by our reckoning." Fluffy began grooming her paw with practiced indifference. "In dog territory. Near the hospital."

  Mark was already moving, displacing cats with apologetic efficiency. "You should have led with that."

  "And miss out on proper worship?" Fluffy's eyes glinted. "I know you, Mark. You would have run off immediately. Very rude. Very predictable."

  "There's a person who needs help—"

  "Who has been there for hours already and will survive a few more minutes of petting." The cat sat back down, tail wrapped primly around her paws. "You always rush. It's unbecoming."

  Maggie stood, brushing fur from her dress. "She's got a point."

  "Don't encourage her."

  "I like her."

  "Everyone likes me," Fluffy said. "It's natural."

  Maggie reached down for one last scratch behind the ears. "Can I come back? To visit?"

  "You may." Fluffy leaned into the touch. "You have good hands. And you don't talk too much. Both admirable qualities." She glanced at Mark. "Unlike some."

  "I barely said anything."

  "Exactly the right amount would be less."

  Mark pinched the bridge of his nose. Locke had risen from his spot by the door, clearly eager to leave territory where he was merely tolerated.

  "Thank you for the information," Mark said, managing to sound mostly sincere. "I appreciate it."

  "You're welcome. Don't take so long next time." Fluffy settled into a loaf position, eyes already drooping. "Now go. I need my rest."

  · · ·

  The transition from cat territory to dog territory was marked by smell first, sound second.

  Cat territory smelled like dust and old stone and the faint musk of sleeping predators. Quiet. Watchful. Every building felt like it had eyes.

  Dog territory smelled like grass and wet fur and something warm underneath. The silence broke gradually—distant barking, the scrabble of claws on pavement, the occasional howl that echoed between buildings.

  "Wonder what the new person's like," Maggie said as they walked. "The stray, I mean."

  Mark shrugged. "Could be anyone."

  "That's not helpful."

  "Wasn't trying to be helpful. Just honest. Strays come in all types. Some adapt fast, some don't. Some remember why they're here, some don't want to. No way to know until we meet them."

  Maggie thought about that. Thought about Jay, who'd been terrified and annoying and ultimately braver than she'd expected. Thought about herself, waking up with gaps in her memory and a talent for violence she couldn't explain.

  "What do you think Jay would've done?" she asked. "If he'd woken up here instead of cat territory? With the dogs, I mean."

  Mark made a noncommittal sound.

  "That's also not helpful."

  Mark was quiet for a moment. Then: "He's gone. Doesn't matter what he would've done."

  "I'm just curious—"

  "He probably would've tried to declare himself their emperor or something." Mark's voice was flat, but there was something underneath it. "He had that energy."

  Maggie smiled despite herself. "Yeah. He did."

  They rounded a corner, and the dogs found them.

  Three of them came bounding out of an alley—a golden retriever, a border collie, and something that looked like a very enthusiastic mutt of indeterminate heritage.

  "PEOPLE!" The golden retriever's tail was a blur. "People people people! Hi! Hello! Welcome!"

  The mutt circled Maggie, nose working overtime. "New smell. You're new. Mostly new." Sniff. "Some cat smell but that's okay we don't judge."

  The border collie was the only one who hadn't moved from her spot. She sat at attention, ears pricked forward. "Mark. Good to see you. It's been a while."

  "A few weeks." Mark reached down to scratch the golden retriever's head, which earned him an immediate lean and a tail wag that threatened to knock over a nearby trash can. "I heard there's a new arrival."

  "Yes! The new one! At the hospital!" The golden retriever bounced in place. "He's interesting! Very interesting! Keeps trying to organize things!"

  Maggie raised an eyebrow. "Organize things?"

  "Everything." The mutt had completed three circuits around her and was now trying to sniff Locke, who endured it with the patience of long practice. "He made us line up. In a line. Said it was more efficient."

  "We don't usually line up," the border collie added. "It was strange. But he asked properly, so we did."

  "He's got good energy!" The golden retriever's tongue lolled out. "Calm energy! Leader energy!"

  Mark and Maggie exchanged a glance.

  "Leader energy," Mark repeated.

  "Very leader! Much authority!" The mutt had given up on Locke and was now trying to get Maggie to pet him through sheer force of presence. "He walks like he's in charge even when he's not! We like him!"

  "Is he okay?" Maggie asked. "Hurt or anything?"

  The border collie tilted her head. "He was confused when he woke up. They always are. But he adapted fast. Faster than most." She paused. "He has kind hands. Good for petting."

  "Very important quality!" the golden retriever agreed.

  Mark was already moving toward the hospital, which loomed a few blocks ahead—a grey building like all the others, but taller, with the ghost of a red cross still visible on its facade.

  "Can you take us to him?" Maggie asked the dogs.

  "Yes! Follow! We know the way!" The mutt took off at a sprint, then immediately came back when he realized no one was following at the same pace. "This way! Come on! Hurry!"

  The golden retriever fell into step beside Maggie, tail still going. "You'll like him! Everyone likes him! He's nice! And he doesn't treat us like we're dumb!"

  "Some people do that?"

  "Some people are rude." The retriever's tone suggested this was a profound tragedy. "But he listens! Really listens! Even when we talk too much! Which is never, I don't talk too much, do I talk too much?"

  "You're fine," Maggie said.

  "Great! Perfect! Let's go meet him!"

  They were halfway to the hospital when the sound hit.

  A crack. Sharp. Echoing.

  Gunshot.

  The dogs froze mid-step. The golden retriever's tail stopped wagging. The mutt's ears flattened.

  Mark was already running.

  "Stay here," Maggie told the dogs, and then she was running too, Locke keeping pace beside her.