The third floor was finally starting to feel like theirs.
After lunch—actual hot noodles, thanks to Anna restoring a broken electric kettle—they gathered in the wide hallway that connected their sleeping classroom to the library. The plan was simple: turn the school's ruined upper floor into a secure base of operations. A home.
Annabelle had already sent vines up through the cracks in the windows, weaving them into thick, leafy curtains to block out sunlight and prying eyes. Penelope froze rusted hinges on old lockers so Arthur could break them open and salvage what remained—batteries, bandages, old gym uniforms they used for cleaning rags.
Gwen painted a giant "SAFE HAVEN – DO NOT LOOT" sign on the side of the school roof with spray paint salvaged from the art room.
Anna floated just above the floor, surrounded by shimmering sigils of her space magic. Her hands glowed faintly as she opened and closed portals, passing furniture through like puzzle pieces until a study lounge took form from scraps: couches, desks, reupholstered chairs. She was tired, but her heart was full.
It felt like progress.
Later that day, Arthur and Gwen volunteered to scout the perimeter while Annabelle tended to a few healing plants she was coaxing from cracks in the rooftop garden. Anna, curious about a flicker of light she'd noticed beyond the trees the day before, decided to investigate with Penelope close behind.
They slipped through a broken fence behind the school, following a narrow dirt path that wound through overgrown bushes and past what used to be a nature trail.
That's when they heard it.
A faint sound—like a mewl. High-pitched. Weak.
Anna tensed. "Did you hear that?"
Penelope nodded, forming a tiny icicle in her palm, just in case.
They crept forward—and found it.
A small tiger cub, barely the size of a labrador, lay curled beneath a thicket of brambles. Its striped fur was matted and dirty, one paw tucked beneath its body awkwardly. When it saw them, it hissed weakly, baring baby teeth and letting out a sound that was more pitiful than fierce.
Anna's heart clenched.
It was a child. Alone. Hurt.
She crouched slowly, opening a spatial rift beside her. From within, she pulled out a soft, patched blanket and a can of slightly warmed condensed milk she'd restored earlier.
"Easy… I'm not here to hurt you," she murmured, using her spatial hands to gently lift the cub out from under the thorns. The cub flailed at first, but the moment it was wrapped in warmth and fed, it stopped fighting. Its eyes fluttered closed as it curled into the blanket, nose twitching.
Then the ground shook.
Just slightly.
Then again.
Heavy. Deliberate. Dangerous.
"Anna…" Penelope's voice had gone cold.
The trees ahead parted.
A tiger stepped forward—not just any tiger.
A beast.
Larger than any tiger Anna had seen in photos or books. Its shoulders were the height of a man. Its fangs gleamed like carved ivory. Its striped fur was wet with blood that wasn't its own. Behind it, partially hidden beneath a collapsed tree… lay the body of the mother tiger.
The great beast lowered its head, eyes locked on the cub in Anna's arms. And then it let out a sound—raw, full of grief and rage.
And it charged.
Penelope fired a wall of ice, but it shattered like glass under the tiger's weight. Anna threw up four layers of spatial barriers in rapid succession. The tiger tore through three like paper before being stopped inches from her face.
Its breath was hot. Its eyes burned with fury.
Anna's own hands trembled, but she didn't back away. Instead, she pushed forward.
Not physically—mentally. Spiritually.
She reached into the pulse of her magic, into the very fabric of her space.
And she saw the tiger not as a threat, but as a protector. A father. Grieving. Lost.
Her voice, when she spoke, came not from fear, but from clarity.
"I'm not your enemy. I saved your cub."
The spatial energy around her warped. Threads of glowing silver light spilled from her hands and wrapped around the tiger's form—not chains, not cages, but offers. A pact, glowing with ancient power.
"Come with me," she whispered. "Be part of our home. You don't have to be alone anymore."
The tiger snarled—then paused.
Its gaze flicked to the cub, sleeping safe and full.
Then back to her.
Then—slowly, like a mountain bowing to the wind—it lowered its head. One paw stepped forward. Then another.
And then, the great beast—proud, noble, furious—knelt.
Anna felt the bond snap into place like a sealed contract. Space warped briefly around the tiger before it returned to normal. Her powers surged, welcoming the creature not just into her domain… but into her family.
When they returned to the school, Arthur nearly fell over.
"IS THAT A—WHAT—WHY—HOW?"
The cub let out a curious squeak from the oversized baby carrier Anna had rigged using a blanket and spatial cushion. The father tiger padded behind her like a silent sentinel, eyes watchful but calm.
They cleared a space in their room. Anna summoned the largest beanbag she had left—an enormous lavender circle the size of a hot tub. She threw two heated blankets over it and let the cub climb in. The little one squeaked once, rolled twice, and flopped over snoring.
The father tiger lay next to it, his eyes on the kids but his muscles relaxed.
"I guess we're officially a zoo now," Gwen murmured, wide-eyed but grinning.
Arthur offered the tiger a plush dinosaur as a peace offering. It was gently accepted.
Penelope—ever practical—added a new chalkboard rule.
6. Do not feed the tiger random snacks. Especially chocolate. (Looking at you, Arthur.)
That night, they all sat together under the dim warmth of the solar heaters. The tiger rested curled near the window, casting a majestic shadow across the floor. The cub snored. Gwen was braiding Annabelle's hair while Penelope worked on drawing blueprints for converting the library into a greenhouse.
Anna sat with her back against the chalkboard, watching them all.
This place wasn't just shelter anymore.
It was family.