The Small Ones Break First

The Narrows don’t remember the ones they break. Children vanish, houses rot, whole streets fold into silence. No one keeps count. But something crawled back from what was buried. Small, Scarred. and Wild . Each night it moves through alleys and tunnels, scavenging food, disarming traps, marking places no one else notices. To the city it looks like nothing more than a raccoon, but the city is wrong. There is more to its purpose than hunger, more in its movements than instinct. It doesn't speak or even remember its name. But both it and the city that forgot will remember.