Syd Cat had walked into ZenHaven three days ago, and in three days no one had spoken a word to her. She wanted that to change. She wanted a place where someone looked at her scars and still smiled. But every door she passed stayed shut, and every eye slid away from the hard lines of her face. She stopped at the edge of the market square. A twisting treehouse rose above the stalls, teal and magenta, catching the morning light in little rainbow sparks. A ladder led up to a crooked porch. From that porch came the sound of a child crying. Syd looked around. The townsfolk kept their eyes on their baskets. No one moved toward the sound. She clenched her jaw and climbed. At the top she found a girl, maybe six, clinging to a thin branch far out on a limb. The wind pushed her small body. Below her, a long drop. The ladder ended short of the limb, and the wood between was too narrow for any grown woman to cross. "Stay still," Syd said. Her voice came out low and rough. The girl flinched at it. Syd knew the branch would never hold her weight. So she chose the only path left. She let her body fold inward, bones and flesh shrinking, teal fur rising along her arms. In a breath she dropped to four paws, a cat the color of deep water. Light enough now. She padded out along the thin limb, claws gripping the bark, and reached the girl. The child wrapped both arms around the cat's neck. Syd shifted again, slow and careful, growing back into a woman with the girl held tight against her chest. One step. Then another. She carried the girl down the ladder and set her feet on solid ground. The square had gone quiet. People had gathered. They had seen the whole thing. A woman pushed through them and fell to her knees, pulling the girl close. She looked up at Syd with wet eyes. "You saved her. I don't even know your name." "Syd," she said. "Syd." The mother gripped her hand hard. "The treehouse is my family's. There's a room at the base, empty for years. It's yours. Please. Stay." Syd looked at the hand holding hers. No one had reached for her in a long time. She thought of the shut doors, the sliding eyes. Then she looked at the crowd and saw them smiling now, not at a stranger, but at her. "I'll stay," she said. That night a soft glow spread through the walls of her new room. Syd lay on the floor and listened to the town settle around her. She was no longer passing through. She had a door of her own now, and a name people knew. But a room was not yet a heart won, and the face she most wanted to see was still a stranger somewhere in this town.