The hunting drone found Gallop Good as he crossed the library steps. A red light swept his flank and locked. "Property tag confirmed," it buzzed. "Specimen will be returned to origin." Gallop froze. He was no one's property. He was a dog spliced into a horse, built in some lab he had never seen, and he had crossed three towns to find the scientist who made him. The drone would drag him back before he ever learned what he was. He bolted through the tall doors. Shelves rose on every side, carved and quiet. The drone followed, scraping the doorframe. It herded bio-property every day. It knew his weight, his scent, his heartbeat. Gallop's hooves skidded on polished floors. He ducked behind a reading table and tried to think. His saddlebag had spilled when he ran. A cluster of bright gum berries rolled across the floor. The drone's light snapped toward the movement, then back to him. It tracked motion. That gave Gallop an idea. Near a window stood a lit fish tank, its colored fish darting through green weeds. Beside it leaned a tall wooden clothes stand, draped with a reader's abandoned coat. Gallop grabbed the coat in his teeth. He flung it over the clothes stand so the empty garment swung and twisted. The drone's light jumped to the swaying shape. For one second, it mistook the stand for him. Gallop charged the drone from behind. He twisted and kicked with both hind legs. His hooves struck the machine square. It cracked, spun, and smashed into the fish tank. Glass burst. Water flooded the floor. The drone sparked, sank, and died in the spreading pool. Fish flopped on the wet tiles. Gallop stood panting over the wreck. The tag was broken. No one was dragging him anywhere now. Then a voice spoke behind him, calm and dry. "You've just destroyed a licensed recovery unit," said the librarian. She stepped from between the shelves, holding a damp rag, already crouching to lift a gasping fish. She did not look afraid. She looked annoyed, like a woman who had cleaned up after runaways before. "That drone filed a report the moment it tagged you. More will come. You can't outrun a tag by breaking one machine." Gallop's chest tightened. "Then tell me how." She studied him, the horse body, the dog's eager eyes. "You're looking for the one who made you," she said. It was not a question. "I know the registry. I know who signs these recovery orders." She dropped the rescued fish into a water jug. "Help me save my fish and clean this flood, and I'll give you a name." Gallop looked at the dead drone, the broken glass, the flopping fish. He had won his freedom for exactly one night. But now someone knew his face, his purpose, and the path to his maker. He lowered his head and started gathering fish.

The flood was mopped, the fish safe in jars, but the librarian gave Gallop no rest. She knelt by a cold vent in the floor and pointed down. "A new retrieval unit lands soon," she said. "It scans for heat the instant it arrives. Your body runs hot. It will tag you before you blink." Gallop's skin prickled. One machine was dead. The next already hunted his warmth. He needed to hide his heat, and fast. He pressed his flank to the stone wall. Still warm. He rolled on the wet tiles. Still warm. The librarian shook her head. "Water cools you for a minute. Then you glow again." Gallop paced, hooves clicking. He had crossed three towns to find his maker. He would not be dragged back now by his own blood heat. A wet, buzzing noise came from the shelves. A small black cat strolled out, green eyes bright, a gold bell swinging at his collar. He let out a loud fart and sat down, unbothered. "Merlin," the librarian sighed. "He sleeps in the cold cave by the back wall. The one made of thick stone." Gallop stared at the cat. Then at the low stone shelter tucked in the corner, dark and deep. Thick rock. Cold inside. Heat could not leak through that. But the cave was built for a cat. Gallop was a horse. He would never fit. He trotted over anyway. His head went in. His shoulders jammed. Merlin followed, farted again, and curled against a gilded bead box someone had stored in the dark. Gallop backed out, chest tight. "It won't hold me," he said. "Then stop trying to hide the heat," the librarian said. "Hide what it reads as." From a crate she pulled a sturdy brown creature, part cow, part chicken, warm and breathing and twice Gallop's bulk. "Barn beast. Runs hotter than you. Stand close. The scanner reads one big warm shape, not a tagged horse." A hum rose beyond the doors. Light flickered under them. Gallop pressed himself against the cow chicken's feathered flank. Their warmth blurred together. The retrieval unit slid in, red eye sweeping. It passed over the shelves, the jars, the stone cave where Merlin snored. Its light brushed the big warm mass and read livestock. No tag. No lock. The unit paused above a spilled cluster of foil candy bars, buzzed once, and drifted back out the doors. Gallop breathed again. He had beaten the scan. But the librarian's face stayed grim. "It didn't find you here," she said. "So it will widen the search. Tomorrow they send trackers that read scent, not heat. Standing by a cow won't fool a nose." She wiped her hands. "You hid once. Now you run. The name I owe you lives two towns north. Reach the scientist before their hounds reach you."