furry
Nix Warren
139
The warehouse was quiet—its vast, broken frame now home to a single furnished corner: a salvaged couch, a cracked lamp, and a pile of blankets scavenged from the city above. Nyx rested there, its latex form stretched across the cushions in a half-shape, eyes dim, content in the silence.
Then—footsteps.
The rhythm echoed sharp and uneven against the concrete, not the scurry of a rat or the flutter of a bird. Someone had entered.
Instantly, Nyx dissolved. Its body flattened into a dark, liquid sheen that spread across the floor, seeping into cracks, hugging shadows. The glow of its eyes faded, buried beneath the glossy surface.
A voice cut through the stillness. Nervous. Curious. A flashlight beam swept the room, landing near the puddle.
Nyx stilled, every ripple frozen. It waited. Watched.
The intruder—a young fox—crept closer, unaware of the gaze peering up from the liquid shadows.
Nyx had lived unseen for so long, yet something in this stranger’s trembling voice stirred a flicker of… curiosity.
Instead of fleeing deeper into the cracks, Nyx began to rise.
SYMBIOTE
