Morning light sliced through the blinds, hitting Ari’s closed eyelids like a physical blow.
She groaned, her skull throbbing from a lack of sleep and the lingering adrenaline of the previous night’s chaotic rescue.
Rolling over, she winced as her shoulder barked in pain from sleeping at an awkward angle on her living room floor.
Her back felt like a collection of rusted gears, clicking painfully with every tiny movement she made.
Memories of the midnight madness rushed back in a wild blur of wet fur, snarling teeth, and a severely injured black cat.
Instantly alert, she scrambled to her feet, her gaze sweeping the immediate area for any signs of destruction.
Cold air bit at her bare ankles as she hurried down the narrow hallway toward the kitchen.
Her breath hitched in her throat, her mind racing with worst-case scenarios of torn cushions, shattered vases, and puddles of urine.
Silence greeted her, heavy and unnatural.
Every muscle in her body tensed as she rounded the corner, half-expecting to find her small apartment torn to shreds by seven traumatized animals.
Instead, the kitchen appeared completely abandoned, bathed in the soft, gray light of dawn.
No torn curtains, no overturned trash cans, and no signs of the wild beasts she had brought home.
Wait.
Something was wrong with the counter.
Sitting perfectly in the middle of the high granite island was a clean glass filled to the brim with cold water.
Ari stared at it, her brow furrowing into a tight knot of confusion.
She lived alone, and she distinctly remembered leaving that exact glass in the sink before she had crashed on the floor.
Moreover, the glass was clean, free of dust, and filled with crisp, clear water.
A sudden, cold shiver prickled her skin at the sheer impossibility of it.
How could an animal have placed it up there, let alone filled it?
Could she have gotten up in the middle of the night, poured a glass of water, and forgotten all about it?
Sleep deprivation did weird things to the brain, and god knew she was running on pure fumes.
Perhaps her body had acted on autopilot while her mind was trapped in a deep, dreamless slumber.
Shaking her head, she rubbed her temples, dismissing the eerie detail as a sleepwalking hallucination.
Her priority was the mini-zoo currently occupying her sanctuary.
Searching the room, her eyes finally traveled downward, scanning the dark corners beneath the cabinets.
Beneath the heavy, dark oak dining table, a cluster of glowing eyes stared back at her from the shadows.
Seven bodies were crammed into the tight space, pressed so closely together they looked like a single, breathing mass of fur.
None of them made a sound.
Even the giant, silver-grey wolfhound remained dead silent, his massive head resting protectively over the smaller calico and the bandaged black cat.
They seemed to have formed a defensive wall, the stronger animals positioned on the outer edges to shield the weaker ones from whatever threat they believed she posed.
Ari knelt on the cold linoleum floor, keeping a respectful distance to avoid triggering their fight-or-flight response.
Anger at their previous owner flared in her chest, hot and sharp as she took in their defensive posture.
They looked terrified, like soldiers waiting for an artillery strike in a muddy trench.
It was the look of creatures who had known nothing but cages, whips, and the cold indifference of those who viewed them as mere objects.
"Listen up, you freeloaders," she began, her voice carrying its usual rough, no-nonsense edge.
"This is my house, which means we have rules."
She pointed a finger at the huddle, her tone stern but devoid of actual malice.
"Rule number one: no chewing on the furniture, because I paid way too much for those chairs."
"Rule number two: no fighting inside, or I will throw you all out into the rain."
"And rule number three: you eat when I feed you, and you don't bite the hand that puts food on the table."
Not a single ear twitched as she spoke.
A golden retriever mix with large, incredibly expressive brown eyes watched her from the front of the huddle.
His coat was matted, his ribs prominently visible beneath his skin, shaking with a subtle, rhythmic tremor.
He looked at her not just with fear, but with a strange, deep intelligence that made her feel exposed.
Standing up, Ari marched over to the pantry.
She pulled down seven hand-carved wooden bowls she had bought at an artisan market during a rare moment of manic shopping.
They were beautiful, polished cherry wood, meant for expensive salads, but they would do perfectly for her new guests.
Each bowl had unique grain patterns, smooth and warm to the touch.
From the fridge, she retrieved a massive container of premium roasted beef.
It was high-grade, organic meat she had bought for herself, but she was too tired to cook a real meal anyway.
Carefully, she divided the succulent, thick slices of beef evenly among the seven wooden bowls, ensuring the portions were generous.
She made sure the injured black cat and the frail calico got the tenderest pieces.
Rich, savory steam rose from the meat, carrying an intoxicating aroma through the chilly kitchen.
Under the table, a collective, involuntary whimper echoed from the hungry pack.
Their stomachs grumbled in unison, a chorus of desperate hunger that they tried to suppress.
Ari carried the bowls over one by one, setting them in a neat semi-circle several feet away from their hiding spot.
"Go on," she urged, stepping back to give them space. "Eat."
Nobody moved.
Suspicion practically dripped from their rigid postures, their eyes darting between the steaming meat and her face.
They looked at the food, then at her, then back at the food, as if expecting her to whip out a cane or a taser.
Particularly, the golden retriever mix stared at the wooden bowl closest to him, his nostrils flaring.
Saliva dripped from his black snout, yet he didn't take a single step forward.
His gaze flicked from the meat to Ari's face, his eyes swimming with a mixture of intense hunger and absolute terror.
It was a look she knew all too well—the look of someone who wanted to trust but had been burned too many times to dare.
He looked like he expected the bowl to explode, or worse, that she would beat him the moment his nose touched the food.
Ari's heart squeezed, a brief flicker of vulnerability that she instantly crushed with a wave of annoyance.
She hated seeing them like this; it reminded her too much of her own childhood, of walking on eggshells around parents who demanded perfection and offered only cold rejection in return.
"Are you kidding me right now?" she huffed, crossing her arms.
"Do I look like a liar to you?"
Shrinking back, the dog flinched at her sharp tone, tucking his tail tightly between his hind legs.
Beside him, the white, fluffy Spitz-like dog let out a low, warning growl, eyes narrowed in deep, biting distrust.
He bared his teeth slightly, a silent promise of violence if she stepped any closer.
They truly believed the food was a trap.
Years of rejection and cruelty from humans had clearly taught them that nothing in this world was free, especially not prime cuts of beef.
Every instinct they possessed screamed that a human offering high-quality meat was a wolf in sheep's clothing, preparing them for a slaughter.
"Fine," Ari snapped, marching forward.
"If you won't eat it, I'll show you."
Stomping over to the golden retriever's bowl, she reached down and snatched a thick, juicy slice of beef directly from the wood.
Before any of them could react, she shoved the entire piece into her mouth and chewed aggressively.
She glared at them as she chewed, the rich, savory juices bursting across her tongue.
"See?" she mumbled around the mouthful of savory meat, swallowing hard to prove her point. "No poison."
"No traps."
"Just food, you stubborn idiots."
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her chest heaving with frustrated indignation.
A stunned silence fell over the kitchen.
Wide-eyed, the golden retriever mix stared at her, his jaw literally hanging slack in utter disbelief.
Behind him, the others exchanged quick, incredibly human-like glances of shock, their defensive postures softening just a fraction.
Even the growling Spitz had gone quiet, his eyes wide and blinking.
Her display of raw, impatient honesty had completely shattered their expectations of human malice.
They had expected a trap, a game, or a cruel trick, but instead, they got a hot-tempered woman eating dog food—or rather, sharing her expensive human food—just to prove a point.
Slowly, hesitantly, the golden retriever crept forward, his belly nearly scraping the linoleum floor.
His legs trembled, but the overwhelming scent of the roasted beef was too much to resist.
Trembling, his nose twitched as he reached the edge of the cherry wood bowl.
Keeping one eye trained on Ari, he lowered his head.
Just as Jungkook takes a tentative bite, the apartment's main breaker is violently tripped from the hallway, plunging the room into absolute darkness followed by the sound of a heavy lockpick scraping inside her front door.