Lucian kept his weapon trained low- not pointed directly at the cat, exactly, but positioned in that careful way that said he hadn't decided whether a bullet would help or just make the situation exponentially worse. His finger rested along the frame, not the trigger, but ready to move if necessary.
Ben, meanwhile, looked like he was actively negotiating with the concept of sanity and losing the argument badly.
Gabe broke first, voice tight with the kind of control that came from forcing yourself to engage with the impossible. "Familiar," he said slowly, testing each word like it might explode. "Okay. Sure. Fine. Let's pretend that sentence doesn't break my brain in half and scatter the pieces across the floor."
He paused, jaw working.
"What's a Soothsayer?"
Lelin blinked once, languid and feline. The movement somehow conveyed both patience and condescension.
"The bond isn't one-way," it said, settling more comfortably on the couch arm. "There's you- loud, complicated, full of rules and systems and things you think matter. And there's us- quiet, older, built to… fit."
Its gaze flicked to Eanna again, pale eyes luminous in the dim light.
"We're meant to find each other. Two halves of something that works better together than apart."
"Meant," Ben repeated, voice flat and disbelieving. "Like destiny. Like fate."
"Yes," Lelin said, like Ben had just complimented its exceptionally fluffy fur. "It's supposed to happen naturally. When you're young, usually. Before the world gets complicated."
Its tail swished once, a pendulum of dissatisfaction.
"Before barriers."
Gabe shifted his grip on the rifle, knuckles white. "And the barrier stopped that? Stopped you from finding her?"
The cat's ears tipped back- not in fear or submission, but in distaste. Like someone had brought up a particularly offensive smell, or mentioned a person it actively disliked.
"The barrier is a human thing," Lelin said, voice taking on an edge. "Human-made. Human-fed. Human-maintained. Human-shaped."
Lucian's eyes narrowed, that sharp intelligence focusing like a laser. "You don't know who put it up."
Lelin's tail swished harder, agitation bleeding through the carefully maintained composure.
"I don't know why humans do most things," it said, almost petulant. "You're bizarre creatures with bizarre priorities."
It paused, then added, almost begrudgingly, like the admission cost something:
"But I know what it does."
Eanna swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady even though her heart was racing. "It kept you out. Kept you from reaching me."
"Yes." Lelin's voice softened, the humor thinning like ice over deep water. "And not just me."
Gabe's brow creased, confusion and concern warring on his face. "Not just you? What does that mean?"
Lelin looked around the room, whiskers twitching as if weighing whether any of them deserved the truth it was about to share. Whether they could handle it. Whether it mattered if they could.
Then it sighed- a tiny sound that somehow carried a lot of age, a lot of weariness, like a very old person remembering things they'd tried to forget.
"There are many familiars who will never meet their human half," it said quietly. "They feel the pull- the bond trying to form, trying to complete itself, and they search. They spend years, decades, searching."
Its ears flattened slightly.
"But the barrier confuses it. Smears the signal. Mutes the connection. Like trying to hear someone call your name underwater, or through walls, or across a distance that keeps changing. And people dont exactly stay in one place."
A chill crawled over Eanna's skin, raising goosebumps despite the stale warmth of the safehouse.
Ben's voice went rough, angry in a way she hadn't heard from him before. "So they just… never find them? Never meet the person they're supposed to bond with?"
"Some never do," Lelin said simply, matter-of-fact in the way that made terrible things sound inevitable. "Some find them too late- when their human half is old, dying, when there's no time left to build what should have been a lifetime."
Its eyes narrowed slightly, bright and offended and fierce.
"Some die trying. The barrier hurts us when we push against it, and some of us push too hard, too long, until we can't anymore."
The room had gone very quiet. Even the other office workers- huddled in corners, sitting against walls, processing their own trauma, seemed to sense the shift. Like a story was being told that their bodies understood before their minds could catch up.
"And some keep trying anyway," Lelin continued, voice softening into something that might have been pride, "because we're not built to give up on our people. Because the bond isn't just connection- it's need. Like breathing. Like hunger. We can't just stop."
Lucian's mouth tightened, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "You said it hurts you to push against the barrier."
Lelin's ears flicked again, a sharp movement. "It does."
Gabe leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "How? How does it hurt?"
The cat's gaze sharpened, and for a moment that cheerful veneer dropped enough to show teeth underneath it- not literal teeth, but something harder, something that had survived pain and kept going anyway.
"It burns," Lelin said, voice gone cold and precise. "Not like fire. Not like heat. Like… wrongness. Like pressing your paw against a window that wants to become a blade the moment you touch it."
It paused, considering.
"It cuts at what we are. At the core of us. It makes the bond feel… sick. Infected. Like something beautiful is rotting from the inside out."
Eanna clenched her hands in her lap without meaning to, nails digging into palms. "But you kept trying anyway."
Lelin looked at her, and something in its expression softened- not warmth exactly, but focus. Recognition. The kind of possessive attention a person might give to something precious they'd lost and finally found again.
"Familiars need to be with their people," it said simply. "The way you need air, the way you need food. So we never stop trying. We can't."
The weight of that- the implication of years, maybe decades of searching, of hurting, of pushing against something that fought back, settled over the room like a blanket.
The room went quiet, the kind of silence that comes when people are trying to process information that doesn't fit into any framework they have for understanding the world.
Ben cleared his throat, the sound harsh and deliberate, trying to force reality back into something manageable. "Okay. Fine. Barrier. Familiars. Magical cat that turns into a tiger and talks in our heads. Whatever."
He exhaled hard, running a hand through his hair.
"You said earlier- at the facility, that something older woke up. What did you mean?"
Lelin's entire posture changed.
It didn't move much- just sat a little taller, spine straightening, fur along its back lifting as if an invisible breeze had touched it. Its eyes, pale and strange and not-quite-right, fixed on a point past them, past the house, past the city, past anything Eanna could see or comprehend.
"Yes," it said, voice quieter now, losing the playful edge entirely. "Something older has appeared."
Gabe's voice dropped instinctively, the way people lower their voices in the presence of something dangerous even when they don't know what it is. "Older than what."
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Lelin blinked slowly, a cat's meditation.
"Older than your systems," it said. "Older than your barriers and your buildings and your carefully constructed world. Older than your pretending that we don't exist, that magic is dead, that the world runs on logic and science and nothing else."
Lucian's gaze sharpened like a blade being drawn from its sheath. "And it saw Eanna."
"Yes," Lelin said, and that bright amusement returned in a way that made Eanna's stomach knot, because it didn't belong with the gravity of the words, because humor in the face of danger was either bravery or madness. "It noticed her."
Her mouth was dry, tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. "How? How did it notice me specifically?"
Lelin's tail tapped once against the couch arm. A metronome. A countdown. A heartbeat.
"It woke from its slumber," it said, each word deliberate. "And it looked around at the world. And it saw you- bright and clear and impossible to miss once it knew where to look."
Eanna's skin prickled with that same sensation from the cave- like being seen by something vast, something she couldn't see back.
Lucian's voice went very still, very controlled. "This is why they moved fast. Why they went from 'conduct individual interviews to identify the target' to 'kill everyone in the room and blame it on a gas leak.'"
"Correct," Lelin purred, pleased that someone was keeping up.
Ben's jaw clenched, muscle working. "Because of her."
"Because of what she is," Lelin corrected gently, and that landed like a stone in Eanna's stomach, heavy and cold.
Not because of what she'd done. Because of what she was. Something she hadn't known about. Something she hadn't chosen. Gabe frowned, thinking tactically. "But you said earlier- you implied the barrier won't stop it. Won't stop this older thing."
Lelin's eyes narrowed to slits, pupils contracting.
"The human barrier cannot stop what's coming," it said flatly. "Your technology is impressive in its way- clever, sophisticated, well-maintained. But it's designed to suppress human manifestations of power. To dampen Soothsayers and their abilities."
It paused.
"This is not that."
Eanna tried to breathe and realized she'd forgotten how, her chest tight with something that wasn't quite fear but lived in the same neighborhood. Lucian stepped closer, controlled anger threading through his voice like wire through silk. "Then why put the barrier up at all? Why build this whole suppression infrastructure if it can't protect against the thing you're worried about?"
Lelin's ears flattened against its skull, genuine anger flickering across its features.
"Because humans love cages," it hissed. "Even when they don't understand what they're trying to contain. Even when the cage doesn't protect you from the thing you fear- it just keeps you weak when the thing arrives."
Its tail lashed once, sharp.
"They built their barriers to control Soothsayers, to keep you suppressed and contained and ignorant. And in doing so, they made you vulnerable to exactly what they should have been preparing you to face."
Gabe's voice hardened, the soldier in him surfacing. "You said something earlier. You said they might have stopped it. Stopped this thing. How?"
Lelin's gaze flicked to him, reassessing.
"They might have," it agreed. "If they'd acted fast enough. If they'd been willing to do what was necessary."
Its voice dropped lower.
"If they'd killed the soothsayer."
Silence snapped tight around the room like a noose.
Ben stared at the cat, eyes wide. "The what."
"The soothsayer," Lelin repeated with exaggerated patience, like explaining weather patterns to a child. "The one it chose."
Lucian's eyes went razor-sharp, every bit of his attention focusing on the cat with lethal intensity. "Chose for what."
Lelin's mouth curled in something that wasn't quite a smile- more like the expression a cat makes when it's cornered a mouse and is deciding whether to play with it or just bite.
"A mouth," it said softly, each word precise. "A lens. A hand inside the world. A way to act without fully manifesting."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
"The old things- the truly old things, they can't just appear in your world anymore. Your reality has… hardened. Become less permeable. They need an anchor. A conduit."
Its eyes gleamed.
"They need someone to speak through."
Eanna's throat went cold, ice water sliding down her spine. "Who is it? Who's the soothsayer?"
Lelin looked at her, and the weight of that gaze was almost physical.
And for the first time since it appeared, the delight in its voice wasn't playful or cheerful or amused.
It was triumphant- like it had won a hunt that had lasted years, like it had finally cornered its prey.
"They didn't kill the soothsayer," it said, satisfaction bleeding into every syllable. "They couldn't. Or they hesitated. Or they missed their chance."
Lucian's expression tightened, jaw setting. The same look he'd worn in the van before the mess hall- the look of someone who'd just realized the situation was worse than they'd thought.
"And now?" Gabe asked, voice low and dangerous. "What happens now that they didn't?"
Lelin's tail curled neatly around its paws again, resetting itself into that absurdly cute shape like it wasn't talking about the end of the world, like it wasn't describing something that made government conspiracies look like paperwork.
"Now it's awake," it said, looking right at Eanna. "Now it's seen you. And the barrier won't hold it back- not anymore, not now that you've shut down the suppression grid."
Its head tilted, feline curiosity mixed with something older.
"It will come for you. To claim you, to use you, to make you into whatever it needs you to be."
Eanna swallowed hard, her voice coming out smaller than she'd intended. "So why am I still alive? If this thing is so powerful, if it can just reach through someone and act, why haven't I- "
She couldn't finish the sentence.
Lelin blinked, slow and satisfied, like a cat who'd just caught the best sunbeam in the house.
"Because," it purred, voice warm with victory and possessive affection, "I found you first."
It leaned forward slightly, fluffy head tilting in that way cats do when they're explaining something obvious to a particularly slow human.
"Familiars protect their people. That's what we're for. And now that I've reached you, now that the bond is forming, you're not defenseless anymore."
Its eyes gleamed with something fierce and protective and utterly alien.
"You have me."
Ben made a sound that might have been a laugh or a sob. "That's supposed to be comforting?"
"It should be," Lelin said primly. "I'm very good at what I do."
Gabe rubbed his face with both hands. "And what exactly do you do besides turn into a giant murder fluff and deflect bullets?"
"Many things," Lelin said vaguely. "But right now? Right now I'm keeping her alive."
Lucian's voice cut through sharp as glass. "By doing what?"
Lelin's gaze slid to him, assessing, measuring.
"By making sure," it said slowly, "that when the old thing comes looking for its soothsayer, it finds me instead."
The words settled over the room like ash.
"Wait," Eanna said, brain finally catching up. "You're saying- you're saying this thing is coming here? To this house?"
"Eventually," Lelin said with maddening calm. "Not immediately. It will need time to orient itself, to understand where you are now that the barrier is down."
Its tail swished once.
"But yes. It will come."
"How long?" Lucian demanded.
Lelin's ears twitched.
"Hours. Maybe a day. Maybe less if it's particularly motivated."
Gabe swore, creative and vicious. "We need to move. Get her somewhere else, somewhere it can't find her."
"It will find her anywhere," Lelin said flatly. "That's what soothsayers are- beacons. You can't hide from something that sees you the way a lighthouse sees ships."
Ben's voice went tight. "So what do we do?"
Lelin looked at Eanna again, and this time its expression was almost gentle.
"You learn," it said simply. "You remember. You become what you were always supposed to be."
It paused.
"And because you just turned the cage off, because you shut down the suppression grid that's been keeping you weak and ignorant your entire life, you might actually have a chance."
Her hands were shaking. She pressed them against her thighs to still them.
"A chance to what?"
Lelin's eyes brightened, fierce and proud.
"A chance to fight back."
The room was silent for a long moment.
Then Lucian holstered his weapon with a decisive movement and turned to face Eanna fully.
"Alright," he said, voice hard and practical. "If something's coming for you, if you're some kind of- " He gestured vaguely. "supernatural target with a magical cat bodyguard, then we need information."
He pointed at the laptop still sitting on the coffee table.
"Start there. See what else is in those files. See if there's anything about 'Soothsayers' or suppression grids or whatever the hell this is."
Gabe nodded, already moving into tactical mode. "Ben and I will secure the perimeter. Check sight lines. Figure out how many exits we have."
Ben stood, still looking shell-shocked but functional. "And if this thing shows up?"
Lelin's tail swished.
"Then you run," it said cheerfully. "Very, very fast."
"Great," Ben muttered. "Wonderful. Love that plan."
Eanna pulled the laptop toward her with trembling hands, flipping it open.
The screen glowed to life, still logged in, still showing that facility control interface.
But now there were other tabs. Other files. A whole directory she hadn't noticed before labeled simply:
Soothsayer PROTOCOLS
Her breath caught.
Lucian leaned over her shoulder. "Open it."
She did.
And the first document that appeared made her blood run cold:
SUBJECT: IDENTIFICATION PROTOCOLS - Soothsayer MANIFESTATIONS
CLASSIFICATION: EYES ONLY
It wasn't a list of names.
It was a checklist. A profile. Diagnostic criteria.
Signs of Active Manifestation:
-
Unexplained temporal displacement (missing time)
-
Barrier generation (defensive manifestations)
-
Attraction of familiar entities
-
Proximity to suppression grid failures
-
Anomalous energy signatures detected within civilian populations
Her hands went numb.
Recommended Response Protocol:
-
Immediate isolation of all potential subjects
-
Individual assessment via controlled manifestation triggers
-
Termination of all collected subjects if identification inconclusive
-
Cover story: infrastructure failure (gas leak, structural collapse)
"Oh," she breathed, the pieces clicking into horrible clarity.
They'd known what to look for.
They had protocols. Procedures. A whole framework for identifying Soothsayers.
But they hadn't known it was her specifically.
Not until she'd manifested the barrier. Not until Lelin had found her.
That's why they'd collected everyone in the building- because something had tripped their sensors, their detection grid, their whatever-the-hell supernatural surveillance they had running.
They'd known a Soothsayer had activated somewhere in that building.
They just hadn't known which one of them it was.
"They were going to kill us all," she said, voice hollow. "Not because they knew who the target was. Because they didn't."
Lucian's jaw tightened. "Easier to eliminate everyone than risk the wrong person surviving."
Gabe swore softly. "Scorched earth protocol."
Eanna scrolled down, hands shaking.
More documents. More protocols.
Historical Soothsayer Incidents - Suppression Success Rate: 94.7%
Known Familiar Manifestations - Threat Assessment
Suppression Grid Maintenance Schedule - Continental Coverage
Her stomach turned.
Continental coverage.
This wasn't just one facility. This wasn't just one city.
The suppression grid covered the entire continent- maybe more. A massive infrastructure designed to keep people like her dormant, unaware, unable to become what they were supposed to be.
"How long?" she whispered. "How long have they been doing this?"
Lucian leaned closer, reading over her shoulder, and his voice went very quiet.
"According to this? Since 1952."
Seventy years.
Seventy years of suppressing people like her. Of keeping familiars from finding their bonded partners. Of maintaining a cage that covered entire continents.
All to keep them weak.
All to keep them controlled.
All to keep them from knowing what they were.
And she'd just turned part of it off.