The newest slash. The eight in a line of scars that screamed for two more.

A nudge on her arm caught her attention, a ball of grey fur purring at her as it rubbed.

“Yes, yes,” she said as she scratched the cat’s head, the cat pressing hard against her fingernails, its eyes crammed shut in pure bliss.

Eight down.

The sliding glass door across the room exploded, a cascade of glass tumbling to the ground as she rolled from the couch and onto the floor, instinctually tossing the coffee table on its side to provide a barrier and perhaps buy herself some time.

“Too late, Dawn,” came a harsh voice from outside.

Heavy boots stepped into the room, the crack of glass under their heels.

“You should have worked faster,” the voice continued, slowly approaching, a smile in his words.

He was cocky.

He was confident.

He was Nine.