Gretta stood atop the twisted wreckage of a metal door. Four hits—more than she expected—had finally done the job, leaving her in the hallway of a below-ground level in the FBI’s regional office in Tucson. There were three side doors, two of which led to interrogation rooms, and a third had remained closed on her brief trip past, so she was unsure of what was there.

Drywall dust hung in the air, a silent testament to the force of her blows. She sneezed.

An elevator door was at the end of the hall. The light above it displayed the number three and then shifted to a glowing number two. Gretta stalked forward, noting the cameras in the hall watching her.

She’d seen enough movies to know what came next—agents bursting through the door, guns blazing, and grenades flying.

Her eyes darted to the exit sign on the door next to the elevator, observing its strangely reassuring information about fire escape protocols. If she were an FBI agent about to take on a ticked-off giant tiger, she'd make sure there was a way out. The stairwell would be perfect for that since they could shoot and retreat. What if the moving elevator was a distraction? Maybe a giant cat trap?

On her hind legs, she swatted the camera off the wall, then crushed it underfoot. The least she could do was blind them.

After a few precious moments, she decided they’d come from the stairwell, not the elevator. However, the elevator would have a camera, and it wouldn’t be a safe way to exit. She had the strength for one more shift, but a second would knock her out.

She’d lost track of time in the FBI office. Judging by the silence, it was night. The building might be mostly empty. She decided that any plan involving sneaking through the building vents would require too much shape-shifting. Speed and surprise were her only advantages.

A tiger's paw wasn’t great at opening a door meant to pull, but she managed it after two attempts. She had to squeeze into the steel and cinderblock stairwell.

She could hear footsteps running down—likely one person. The stairwell was dim but not dark enough to hide. She padded up the first flight, rounded the corner, and bounded up to the next in one go.

There, she came face to face with Agent Mackinaw, who froze with both hands raised in front of him.

“Whoa!” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He didn’t have his gun out, and he would not hurt her, but not because of any kindness on his part. No, this decision was hers, and she would do the hurting.

Her mouth opened, and a rumble echoed through the stairwell. Mackinaw glanced back and then to her. Sweat dripped down his temple. He swallowed hard as she leaned in, her fangs inches from his face.

“Look, that kid you were with was abducted from child services,” he stammered.

This made Gretta pause. She huffed impatiently, and the released breath pushed Mackinaw’s hair back.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

He seemed to sense that he was still breathing because he had something interesting to say, so he continued. “Um. She was in child services, and there was a break-in. S-somebody took her.”

Gretta let out another rumbling growl that reverberated off the walls.

“That’s all I know! Look—I wasn’t going to hurt you. My gun wasn’t even out!”

Her eyes narrowed, and she inhaled as she inched forward. Mackinaw stood perfectly still as she let out a bellowing roar that shook the building.

He closed his eyes, appearing to accept his fate. He whispered, “For what it’s worth, I was trying to help you.”

She’d press him for more information but couldn’t risk shifting to human. Gretta swept out with one paw and knocked him aside, then leaped up the flight of stairs, leaving Mackinaw lying on the stairwell landing, staring up after her.

When she reached the ground floor, she saw a door with signs that read, “Emergency Exit” and “Warning: Alarm will sound!”

She pushed the door open, allowing the cool night air to envelop her. The building alarm began blaring. In front of her was a dark, empty parking lot. Realizing she needed to move, she dashed across the lot and into an alley.

A homeless man was rummaging through a plastic bag of belongings. When he noticed her, she was already dashing past. He let out a frightened yelp, but she didn’t stop to look back. She needed to put as much distance between herself and the FBI’s office as possible. She wasn’t sure if Agent Mackinaw was genuinely helping her or if he was an idiot. Frankly, she was leaning toward the second option. Victor had already lost Lucia and Rowan. Now her? That was three magic users in a week. Yeah, that wouldn’t look great on his Bureau performance review.

A tiger is not a long-distance runner. While she could easily do forty miles per hour for a few hundred yards, she couldn’t sustain that. Beyond the issue of overheating, her muscles were suited for powerful, short bursts of usage, and they were not capable of sustained running and would cramp up if pushed too far. She didn’t have as much endurance as a human or a small cat, and an otter or elephant wasn’t better for a long, fast escape. She had enough for one last shift—she'd hold onto it, saving it for the right moment.

She could hear police sirens and imagined a call for all units to converge on the area. Since there were no street lights, she kept to the side streets and alleys and only crossed one major well-lit street as she worked north toward the desert.

It was a long path, and she occasionally saw people and cars. However, as she neared the edge of the city, she felt she had managed to avoid enough people that she would escape. For the few people who saw her, tonight would be one hell of a story—but Gretta doubted anyone would believe a tiger had been on the loose.

A teenage boy sat on his bike in the middle of the road, staring at her. He seemed oblivious to everything but her, and she noticed a car approaching, wondering if he would move. She decided that the best way to help him was to stop being a spectacle. That was when she heard the roar of an engine.

She spun around, eyes searching for the threat. Headlights flared, blinding her. Then—wham. The impact sent her tumbling down the road.

The car's hood was destroyed, and the driver’s side headlight was dark. Gretta blinked as she watched the driver get out of the vehicle. Pain was screaming through her body, and as she tried to get up, she realized her shoulder was broken.

The teenage boy muttered, “Whoa…” His eyes flicked from Gretta to the crumpled car and then to the man stepping out. His face paled as he saw the gun. “Nope!” He whipped his bike around and pedaled like hell.

Gretta pulled on healing magic, using what strength she had left to try to mend as the driver started walking toward her with unhurried steps. He was smoking a cigarette. As he took a slow drag, the cherry light was enough for her to make out his face.

Victor let the smoke curl from his lips, eyes locked on her like a predator amused by its prey. Then, smirking, he said, “You should have stayed in your cell.”