Faelynn wanted one thing in Fangfrost: to find the single person who might look at his face and not flinch. He was six feet of tattooed muscle, black braid down his back, eyes so blue people stared and then hurried away. Mothers pulled their children close. Shopkeepers watched his hands. He had lived here two years and spoken to almost no one. This morning he stood at his window and admitted the truth. He didn't know where to look. Fangfrost had markets, taverns, festivals — crowded rooms full of people who saw a threat before they saw a man. He never went to any of them. He didn't know which crowd might hold someone kind. The chinchilla in his palm answered him. She pressed her soft grey body against his thumb and blinked her green eyes up at him. He had raised her from a shivering scrap. His tabby cat wound between his boots, violet eyes half-closed, purring. These two saw him. No one else did. Then Faelynn remembered a flyer nailed to a post near the well. A reading evening. Warm cider. All welcome. He had walked past it three times. Tonight he made himself go. The building glowed. Books climbed the walls to the high windows. A coffee counter hissed in one corner. Cushioned chairs circled a low fire. Warm-hearted townsfolk filled every seat, laughing, holding mugs. This was the place. He knew it at once. He knew it, and his courage failed. His hand froze on the door. If he walked in, every head would turn. Every smile would drop. He had watched it happen too many times. So he did the thing he always did. He brought proof he wasn't dangerous. He reached into his coat and lifted out the chinchilla, cupped in both huge hands. He stepped inside. Heads turned. A woman gasped. A man set down his cup. Then a child near the fire pointed and shrieked with joy. "A chinchilla!" The girl scrambled off her chair. Her mother reached for her too late. The whole room's attention swung from Faelynn's face to the tiny animal in his hands. The fear cracked open into something softer. People leaned in. Someone laughed, warm and easy. Faelynn stood in the middle of the lantern light, and for the first time in Fangfrost, a room did not push him away. A librarian crossed to him with a mug of cider. She smiled up past his braid, his tattoos, his eyes, straight at him. "You can sit anywhere you like," she said. "You and your little friend." He had found the place. He had found a room that could see him. But now a harder question waited. A whole room had softened toward the animal in his hands. He still had to learn which of these gentle faces could soften toward the man holding it.