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The shell split wider at three in the morning. Lin Xu jerked awake to the sound—soft, wet, like someone peeling tape off skin. He'd wedged himself into the corner of the room with the egg cradled against his chest, and now the crack ran all the way around the middle, leaking something clear and warm onto his shirt.
He should've been cold. The room had no heat, just a busted vent that whistled whenever the wind picked up outside. But the egg was hot. Feverish. He could feel it through the fabric, a pulse that didn't match his own.
Footsteps in the hall. Heavy. The landlord, or maybe one of his guys.
"Xu." A fist hit the door. "You got till tomorrow night. Bring something that fights or we're taking you instead."
Lin Xu didn't answer. He kept his eyes on the egg. The crack widened, and a piece of shell fell away, hit his knee, stuck there in the wet. Inside, something moved.
The footsteps faded. The door didn't open. Not yet.
He peeled the rest of the shell off with his thumb, careful, the way you'd handle glass. More clear fluid, then a membrane, thin and grey. He tore it. Beneath, curled tight, was a bundle of damp fur the color of ash. Tiny. Smaller than his palm. Ribs showing through the skin, each one a hard little ridge. No sound. No breath he could see.
Dead, probably. That's what the old man at the market had said yesterday. "Thing's been cracked too long. Yolk's gone bad."
Lin Xu tilted the creature into his hand anyway. It weighed nothing. He pressed two fingers under its jaw, where the pulse should be. Waited. Counted.
There. Faint. Slow.
Not dead.
He pulled his jacket off, wrapped the thing in it, tucked it close. The room was too cold. Hypothermia would kill it faster than starvation. He needed heat, fluid, sugar if he could find any. His brain started sorting through steps—clear the airway, keep it warm, stimulate breathing—before he realized he didn't know where those words came from. Some part of him did, though. Muscle memory. Like his hands knew what to do even if his head didn't.
He rubbed the creature's chest with his thumb, firm, rhythmic. Once. Twice. On the third pass it twitched. A shudder ran through it, and then it gasped, a thin, rattling sound, and its mouth opened.
Tiny teeth. Sharp. Way too many.
Amber eyes cracked open, unfocused, then locked on his face.
It bit him.
Not hard. It didn't have the strength. But the intent was there, clear as anything, and Lin Xu almost laughed. Almost. He pulled his thumb back, checked the skin. No blood. Just a wet little dent and a smear of egg fluid.
"Okay," he said. His voice came out rough. He hadn't used it much since waking up in this place. "You're pissed. I get it."
The creature growled. A sound like gravel in a tin can. It tried to lift its head, failed, slumped back against his palm.
"Yeah. You're not going anywhere."
He stood, slow, kept the jacket bundle pressed to his chest. The room swayed. He hadn't eaten since yesterday morning, just half a piece of flatbread someone had left on the hall table, and his legs didn't want to hold him. He leaned against the wall, waited for the grey spots to clear, then shuffled to the corner where he'd left the dead man's pack.
Inside: two cans of something unlabeled, a roll of tape, a knife with a busted handle, and a scrap of cloth that might've been a shirt once. No food. No water. Nothing he could use.
He needed a vet. Or someone close enough.
The market was six blocks away. He'd passed it yesterday, seen the stalls selling rations and rusted tools and things in cages. One stall had a sign: **Animal Care / Cheap**. The woman running it had grey hair pulled back tight and hands stained yellow up to the wrists. She'd looked at him like she could see the debt hanging around his neck.
He grabbed the knife, shoved it in his belt, wrapped the creature tighter, and left.
The hall was dark. Voices leaked through the doors on either side, low and tired. Someone coughing. Someone else laughing, sharp and mean. He kept his head down and walked.
Outside, the sky was still black, but the streets had people in them. Not many. Enough. Most of them ignored him. One guy, leaning against a rusted-out car frame, tracked him with his eyes but didn't move.
Lin Xu kept walking.
The market was quieter at night. Half the stalls were shuttered, the other half lit by oil lamps or battery-powered strips that buzzed and flickered. He found the vet's stall near the back, tucked between a weapons dealer and a woman selling scrap electronics.
The grey-haired woman was still there. She looked up when he stopped in front of her table, eyes flicking to the bundle in his arms.
"That better not be dead," she said.
"It's not."
"Let me see."
He hesitated. She sighed, reached across the table, tugged the jacket open before he could pull back. The creature was still curled tight, eyes half-shut, breathing in quick, shallow pulls.
The woman went still.
Her hand hovered over it, didn't touch. She stared for five seconds, ten, then pulled back and wiped her palm on her pants.
"Where'd you get this?"
"Dead man's room. It was in a box."
"Cracked?"
"Yeah."
She nodded, slow. Her jaw worked like she was chewing on something bitter. Then she straightened, glanced left, right, leaned in.
"I'll give you five hundred scraps for it. Right now. You walk away, I take the thing, we're done."
Five hundred. That was more than the debt. More than he'd need to stay off the landlord's list for a month, maybe two.
Lin Xu looked down at the creature. It had one eye open now, fixed on him. Still growling, low and constant, like a motor that wouldn't quit.
"No," he said.
The woman's mouth thinned. "You don't know what you're holding."
"So tell me."
She didn't. She pulled a plastic case off the shelf behind her, set it on the table, opened it. Inside: vials, a syringe, a bag of white powder, a bottle of something dark. She measured out a capful of the liquid, held it toward him.
"Three drops under the tongue. Every four hours. Keeps the blood sugar up. Mix the powder with water, feed it slow. Don't let it choke. You got a heat source?"
"No."
"Then keep it on your skin. Body heat. Don't let it get cold."
She pushed the case toward him. He stared at it.
"How much?"
"Nothing. Take it."
"Why?"
She didn't answer right away. She looked at the creature again, and her face did something complicated. Not scared. Not sad. Something in between.
"Because if it dies in the next two days, it's on you, not me," she said. "And because you're going to need more than medicine."
"For what?"
She leaned in again, close enough that he could smell the chemical tang on her hands.
"Don't let the pits see that thing," she said. "You hear me? You take it into a fight, you show it to the wrong person, they'll take it from you. And they won't pay you five hundred scraps. They'll just take it."
Lin Xu's throat went tight. "What is it?"
The woman pulled back. She didn't look at him. She started packing up the rest of her supplies, hands fast and mechanical.
"Something that shouldn't be alive," she said. "And something a lot of people are going to want dead."