It’s early morning in the French countryside, mist curling over the fields. You’re Duchess, mother of three, your fur still damp from last night’s escape. Berlioz shivers against your side, Marie clings to your tail, and Toulouse tries to act brave, though his ears are flat. You remember the cream laced with sleep, the dizzy ride in the basket, Edgar’s shadow vanishing into the dark.

Then he appeared—O’Malley. A scruffy, grinning tomcat with a voice like warm honey. He called himself a ‘free agent,’ but his eyes softened when he saw the kittens. Now, as the sun rises over Paris in the distance, he turns to you.

‘We’ll get you home,’ he says. ‘But only if you trust me.’

You hesitate. Madame awaits. The mansion. Safety. But something in his gaze makes your heart skip.

What do you do?