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Chapter Text

Adora hears the hissing before anything else, even the people laughing and chairs falling to the ground. That's how she knows something's wrong. People laughing and furniture getting knocked around are normal sounds, but the hissing is off. Adora has a good sense of hearing--Shadow Weaver always tells her so, and that's important because a good Force Captain needs to have sharp senses. Adora's going to grow up to be the best Force Captain in the Horde. That's why Shadow Weaver is raising her, after all.

It's just after lunchtime, and all of the kids are playing in the big plaza outside of the mess hall. Well, most of the kids. Adora doesn't play. She "conducts pre-training warm-up exercises" that Shadow Weaver designed especially for her. And that suits her just fine. Adora doesn't want to play, even if any of the other kids ever invited her to.

But there's something wrong, and Shadow Weaver is busy, so it's up to Adora to investigate the weird hissing. Otherwise, order might be disturbed. Maintaining order is the first of Lord Hordak's precepts, and it is the most important one. If Adora is being honest, she is not completely positive what "order" really means, but she does know that strange noises are not part of it.

The first part of investigating is keeping a low profile. Luckily, Adora's short height, while a nuisance in almost every other respect, comes in handy here. She sneaks around the corner of the mess hall, keeping to the shadows, while she does a visual scan of the plaza. Exits first, then the perimeter, then the contents of the perimeter. Just like the training manual says.

Everything looks normal except for a large knot of children in one corner of the plaza. They look very happy, and some of them are almost screaming in laughter. But the hissing is coming from right in the middle, and unfortunately, Adora's going to have to get closer if she wants to figure out what's going on.

She squares her shoulders and takes a deep breath before tiptoeing over. When she gets within a few feet of the crowd, she drops to her hands and knees and crawls forward, slowly. At this distance, she can hear what they're saying, but it doesn't make any sense.

"I heard cats don't like water," one boy is sneering. He's tall and gangly, at least a few years older than Adora. Adora frowns. What are cats?

"Oops! My hand slipped. Look how it's squirming to get away. Like a little rat!"

"Did you hear where they got it? Apparently it was crawling around the edge of the compound. In the trash heap." A snicker goes around the circle.

"Maybe we should put it back in the trash, since it likes it so much."

Adora peers through one older kid's legs, trying to get a better look. Something is twisting around on the ground, hissing and snarling furiously. Every so often, someone reaches out to poke it or kick it, and then it lashes out with laser-fast reflexes. Impressive. Adora's been working on her reflexes too, but she's not sure she could react as fast.

The creature rolls over onto its other side, and Adora gasps. It's not an animal at all. It's a girl, about the same age as her. She looks angry, and panicked, and terrified.

But Adora's gasp gives her away. The girl whose legs she'd crawled between squeals, and after that, it's all over. The other kids all swivel their heads to look at her, scrunched up on the ground like a worm. Adora suppresses a groan. She forgot the first rule of investigating--keep a low profile. There's nothing to do but make the best of it.

Adora climbs to her feet and stands as straight and tall as she can. She still comes up only to the chest of the girl standing in front of her. "What are you doing?" she demands. Despite her best efforts, her voice wavers slightly on the last syllable.

"What does it look like we're doing?" the first boy says. He's still sneering. It's pretty ugly. Maybe that's the only face he can make.

"It looks like you're--you're breaking the rules!" Adora says. She scowls ferociously. "The Horde is supposed to stand together! We fight the Rebellion, not each other."

"This thing isn't part of the Horde, you idiot," the girl in front of her says. "It's just some stray that wandered in looking for food."

"Well, I mean--" Adora casts about wildly. "Then why does she have a Horde badge? She could only have gotten that from a Force Captain! Or--or even Lord Hordak!"

A low murmur goes around the circle at the mention of Lord Hordak's name, and Adora swallows. Some people think just saying his name can summon one of Lord Hordak's Watchers. It was a gamble, but Adora doesn't regret saying it.

"Listen, it's Adora, right?" The sneering boy makes an effort to rearrange his face into a smile. "I think you misunderstood. We're all just having a little bit of fun. In fact, don't you want to join in? Shadow Weaver's always making you study and train. You don't even have any friends, do you?"

Adora can hear some people stifle laughter at his last comment, and her cheeks burn. She can feel tears threatening to spill, and to ward them off, she stomps her foot as hard as she can. "No! This is wrong. You need to leave her alone!"

"Or what?" the boy asks, sneering again.

"Or you'll be sorry!" Adora shouts. She's balled her hands into fists at her sides, and even though she knows she can't take all of them at once, she can still do some damage. All that time training with Shadow Weaver has made her into a good soldier, a strong fighter. And that's something to be proud of, no matter what they think.

The boy laughs, mocking, and takes a step forward. Adora tenses, but before he can do anything, the other kids have grabbed him by the arms.

"It's not worth it," one of them says in a low, comforting tone. "You know she's Shadow Weaver's pet. Don't go asking for trouble."

He takes a breath, then nods, rolling his eyes. He turns his back and stalks off, and as if that was a signal, the rest of the kids scatter too. After a few minutes, the only people left in the courtyard are Adora and the strange girl.

Adora didn't have a chance to really study her in the middle of all the action, only spotting the bright Horde badge out of desperation. The girl is soaking wet and shivering. Her skin is dark, and she has weird markings on her arms. But weirdest of all, she has two large, fuzzy ears growing out of her head. They look soft and are almost comically big on her small head.

"Who are you?" Adora whispers.

The girl doesn't respond. She just looks at her with bright, blue and yellow eyes.

"I'm Adora," Adora continues. "You don't need to be scared."

Still nothing. Biting her lip, Adora moves closer and shrugs off her uniform jacket.

"You're probably cold. Here, let me--" Adora reaches out to drape the jacket over the girl's thin shoulders, but the instant she gets within range, the girl swipes at her. Her hands are somehow tipped with sharp black claws, and she uses them naturally, like an extension of her own body.

Adora squeaks and jumps back out of range just in time. The girl smirks at her, with what looks like a tiny fang pointing out.

"What was that for?!" Adora demands. "I'm trying to help you!"

In response, the girl just lunges at Adora, snapping her teeth. Adora scrabbles back on her hands and feet, frantically, until she is up against the wall of the mess hall. As Adora retreats, the girl does too. She runs in a strange, loping way, using her hands just as much as her feet, disappearing in the direction of the other kids.

Adora lets her head thunk back against the wall. She's scraped her hand, and her uniform jacket is dirty now. And she's managed to make the other Horde kids hate her even more than they did before. Mission: Failure.

*     *     *

She doesn't see the strange girl for another month. By that time, Adora has forgotten all about her. She has better, more important things to think about. Shadow Weaver has given her a young cadet's textbook even though she's not old enough to be a cadet yet. It's an honor. She needs to memorize it before her next meeting with Lord Hordak, to show how much she's improved.

But it's slow-going, and sometimes Adora isn't quite sure what the words mean. She doesn't have anyone to ask, though. Shadow Weaver would be angry at her ignorance, and the last time she asked the other students for help, they told her the wrong answer. On purpose. It makes Adora want to cry tears of frustration just thinking about it. All she can do is try to guess.

The chapter she's working on right now is about princesses. They are evil people who want to overthrow order. They hate the Horde and try to hurt and even kill Horde soldiers. They are "bloodthirsty monsters," which Adora is pretty sure means that they will drink the blood of their victims. The thought makes Adora shudder, especially when combined with the illustrations in the book. Why do princesses all have hunched backs, huge horns, and gaping, sharp-toothed mouths?

She's sitting in the corner of one of the locker rooms. It's warm and quiet for most of the day, with the cadets off training, so she can use it as a safe place to study. She knows their schedule, and she makes sure to clear out a few minutes before they come back to shower. When the door opens up with a bang, Adora scurries behind a row of lockers on instinct, even though she knows that classes can't be out this early.

It's Shadow Weaver, and she sounds the opposite of happy. Adora shrinks further back into her hiding spot, praying to Lord Hordak that she goes undiscovered. When Shadow Weaver gets in this kind of mood, she'll take out her anger on anything and anyone convenient.

"This is unbelievable," Shadow Weaver seethes. There's a scuffling on the floor, like she's dragging something heavy behind her. "Just stay still! I can't believe I've been reduced to this."

She walks straight past the lockers and into the shower room, still dragging something behind her. Silently, Adora creeps out just enough to peek around the lockers, holding her breath the entire time. The bundle that Shadow Weaver is dragging looks like it's alive and struggling to get away.

Suddenly, it grabs onto Shadow Weaver's arm and, with a very familiar hiss, sinks its teeth into her skin. Shadow Weaver lets out a piercing wail and lashes out with both her arm and her powers. Adora gasps, then stuffs her fist into her mouth to keep from making any other noises. The bundle flies into the wall, landing with a sickening crunch, and slides down to the floor.

"You filthy animal," Shadow Weaver snarls. "Ungrateful, stupid little brat. Don't you dare come out until you're clean, or I'll string you up again."

Amazingly, the girl lifts her head from where she's crumpled on the floor, and manages a feeble growl.

Shadow Weaver lets out a low chuckle. A shiver runs down Adora's spine at the sound. "I knew you could understand me. Even if you are a beast."

Casually, like she's just been out for an evening stroll, Shadow Weaver brushes down her clothing and re-adjusts her mask. "Be a good little beastie, and wash up. I'll know if you don't." With that, she punches the controls, turning on not just one, but all of the shower heads. Before they sputter awake, Shadow Weaver keys open the door and walks out.

The girl stays huddled into a tight ball while the shower heads power on and spray water over the entire room. She is quickly drenched, and even her ears seem to be drooping from the weight of the water.

Adora hovers for a moment in indecision. On the one hand, the girl clearly needs help. On the other hand, she's also tried to hurt Adora the last time Adora tried to help. Plus, Adora could get in trouble if she's caught--Adora isn't supposed to be in the locker rooms at all, and it didn't seem like Shadow Weaver wanted anyone getting involved.

As Adora crouches there, paralyzed, she thinks she hears the girl let out an almost inaudible whimper. The girl's shoulders are moving slightly, shaking, like she might be...crying.

Before Adora can think better of it, she gets to her feet and darts into the shower room. The water is freezing cold and coming from all directions; apparently Shadow Weaver didn't bother to program the temperature. She skids to a halt in front of the controls, which she can just manage to reach if she gets up on her very tiptoes and stretches out her fingers. Frowning in concentration, Adora punches the up arrow until the temperature begins to warm. She's not sure how to turn the shower heads off, but at least the water is hot now.

The girl got to her feet when Adora ran past, and now she's holding her arms out protectively like she's worried Adora will hit her. She's not wearing any clothes, and Adora can see red, blue, purple, and yellow bruises all over her body. She knows from the training manual, and from her own body, that yellow bruises are old, blue and purple are medium, and red bruises are new. For some reason, this girl has the whole rainbow.

"You can put your arms down," Adora says. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The girl doesn't move. Adora rolls her eyes.

"I said, I'm not going to hurt you," Adora repeats, slower. "Now take a shower already! Shadow Weaver could be back at any minute, and she'll be really mad if you're still dirty."

The girl scowls when she says Shadow Weaver's name, and her hands ball into fists. But she doesn't make a move towards the soap. She just stands there, like a practice dummy.

Adora heaves out a sigh. This isn't working. "Don't try to scratch me again, or we are going to have a problem," she says firmly, before walking over to the girl. She skitters away, backward, but doesn't try to strike out. Adora tries to reach out, but the girl ducks, letting out a panicked whine, as she backs up all the way against the wall.

"I'm trying to help you wash up!" Adora says in exasperation. This is stupid. Adora shouldn't have tried to help. She should have just stayed in the locker room, where it is nice and dry, until Shadow Weaver came back to pick the girl up. And probably take her to the punishment room for disobeying direct instructions. Adora glares up at the ceiling. Her uniform is dripping onto the floor.

Angrily, jerkily, Adora takes off her shirt, and then the rest of her clothing. The girl has stopped trembling and is watching her, with a cocked head.

"I don't understand why you don't just tell me what you're thinking," Adora mutters, half to herself. "Can't you talk? Don't you understand English?"

The girl's throat moves convulsively, and she opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Adora waits for a heartbeat, but when the girl stays silent, she rolls her eyes again.

"This is the soap, okay?" she says, walking over to the soap dispenser. "You use it to get clean. You've gotta scrub all the places, even the hard to reach ones, or Shadow Weaver will give you a black mark for not being up to code."

She washes herself as she talks, to show the girl what she's doing. Slowly, the girl begins to mimic her movements, but keeping a suspicious glower on the whole time. She gets the hang of it quickly enough, scrubbing dirt away from her skin and wearing an almost satisfied expression on her face as she does it. But when she gets to her hair, things go downhill.

Adora doesn't notice until she hears the snarling. The girl's hands are caught in her tangled hair. It's thick and matted, like it hasn't been washed in a really long time. Adora has never seen hair so knotted. It looks almost like a dead animal, and Adora is fascinated in spite of herself. The girl is trying to jerk her hands free violently.

"Wait! You're going to pull your hair out!"

Of course, the girl ignores her. Adora marches over and grabs her elbow, ignoring her when she tries to snap at Adora with her teeth.

"Let me help you, okay?" Adora says. The girl growls. "It'll feel better when I'm done." She stares at the girl, trying to show her that she's telling the truth. Adora begins again, more quietly. "I'm not a liar, and I'm not a bully. Some of the kids here are, but I'm not one of them. I promise."

Slowly, the growls get quieter. Adora relaxes, and tries to smile at the girl. Smiles always make her feel better. But the girl just looks confused.

"Sit down for me? Please?" Putting a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder, Adora pushes softly until the girl sits on the ground clumsily, legs curled up under her. Adora pumps some more soap into her hands and rubs them together, trying to think. When she washes her own hair, she usually starts from her head, and then works her way down. But her hair is much shorter than this girl's. And it's never been so tangled.

Biting her lip, Adora kneels down behind the girl and works her soapy hands into the girl's hair, starting at the root. The hair is really thick and almost scratchy, like the dry grass in the training field. Adora moves her fingers in slow circles, trying not to use too much pressure.

At first, Adora thinks the girl is growling again when the rumbling starts. But it's a softer rumble, and when Adora looks at the girl's face, her eyes are closed and she's smiling. Really smiling, not how she smirked at Adora after almost scratching her. Adora keeps going, working slowly through the hair. The rumbling gets louder, filling the entire shower room. Where Adora is touching her hair, she can feel the small vibrations. It's relaxing, in a way.

When Adora gets to the first really big knot, she hesitates.

"This might hurt a little bit," she says. "I'll try not to pull too hard."

But the girl stays still and quiet, even when Adora is sure she yanks out a few strands by accident. She gets through the rest of the knots, and the last one, bigger than the rest, is solved when the girl reaches out and casually swipes her claws through it. A large lock of hair is sheared off, but she doesn't seem to care at all, just dunking her head under the spray of water.

"Well," Adora says. "That's that. I think you're clean now."

With the caked mud and other things gone, Adora can see freckles on the girl's face. They're dark and scattered all over her nose. They look like someone put chocolate sprinkles on her, like a cookie.

The girl snorts softly and shakes her hair out, directly in Adora's face.

"Blegh! Okay, yes, you're very clean. I have to go now and find a clean uniform before Shadow Weaver finds me like this. She won't be happy."

The girl furrows her brow but doesn't say anything as Adora picks her wet uniform up from the floor and puts it on. It's clammy and cold against her skin, and Adora can't help pulling a face even though she knows discomfort is only a problem for the weak. A good Horde soldier thrives on discomfort.

When she gets to the door of the locker room, textbook tucked under her arm, Adora looks back one last time at the girl. She's still standing under the water, staring at Adora.

"Bye," Adora says. She waves, even though she feels dorky. But the girl raises her hand, too, making an awkward waving motion like she's not sure what she's doing. Adora grins, and then slips through the door.

*      *      *

It's two rights and one left back to the rooms Adora shares with Shadow Weaver. She runs quickly, keeping close to the walls so that she doesn't make a big puddle in the middle of the hallway. Shadow Weaver usually isn't in their rooms in the middle of the day, so hopefully Adora can get in, change, and then get out again. It will be like an infiltration mission. Adora recites the rules under her breath: Blend in. Know your objective. Use maximum efficiency. Eliminate witnesses. Adora just needs to be small, quick, and quiet, and luckily, she's already small.

Silently, Adora pulls open the door to her room and then eases it shut again to muffle the click. The room is dark and empty. She pushes her wet uniform off as fast as she can, throwing them in a pile in the laundry basket and grabbing a clean uniform from the drawer. In her head, she starts counting down. Changing her uniform should take no more than 1.5 minutes, and then she can slip out and find a place to finish studying for the day.

But only 55 seconds have passed when Adora hears the door in the other room open. She still hasn't finished buttoning up her jacket. The other room belongs to Shadow Weaver. It can only be her. Adora leaps into the laundry basket, reaching out one hand to steady it against the wall when it wobbles.

It's a good laundry basket. Adora likes it because it's big, and it can store lots of things. Lots of dirty clothes, and bed sheets and, when necessary, her. Shadow Weaver never thinks to look inside. Quietly, Adora moves the laundry around to cover her head.

"You ask too much of me," Shadow Weaver says in the other room. Adora freezes.

"I ask only enough to serve our cause," says another voice. It's deeper, male. It sounds almost like Lord Hordak, even though that can't be right. Adora has only ever seen him in the throne room, or during cadet ceremonies. But it sure does sound like him. Adora sinks a little deeper into the pile of laundry, heart racing.

"I already have my hands full with Adora! I simply do not have the resources to--care for anybody else, particularly not a half-wild beast."

Adora frowns. Could they be talking about the girl? Her left ear is starting to itch furiously, but Adora forces herself to stay still. Focus on her breaths. In and out. In and out. Spies must have entire control over their bodies.

"I have always thought you quite devoted to the Horde, Shadow Weaver. Was I incorrect?" the man asks.

"Of course I am devoted! I have devoted my entire life, my entire being, to serving you! And I have been more than successful. You have seen the strides that Adora has made already while under my tutelage. She will exceed the potential we saw in her, all those years ago, precisely because I am guiding her towards her birthright."

Birthright? What does that mean? Adora is an orphan. All of a sudden, Adora's ear doesn't itch anymore. She wills Shadow Weaver to keep talking, but the man interrupts her.

"That is why I know you are the right person for this critical job. You will take the girl, Shadow Weaver, and mold her."

"She's nothing but a savage wildling! She can't even talk like a human. She's just a few body parts away from being a cat," Shadow Weaver says, disgust lacing her tone.

"Wildling? Oh, your roots betray you." The man laughs, and now, Adora is positive that he is Lord Hordak, even though she can't imagine why he's in their rooms. No one but Lord Hordak has that low, dark laugh. "Don't tell me you still subscribe to dear Etheria's prejudices, even after all this time. They do so hate anyone who is different from them, especially when the differences are so...visible. With their discrimination, I expect to add the Kingdom of the Scorpions to our collection any day now, with no effort needed on our parts."

Lord Hordak pauses, and when he speaks again, his tone is brisker, more business-like. "Wildlings are a myth. The girl is just as human, just as malleable, as everyone else in the Horde. Take her and train her to develop her keener senses. She's a child--she'll pick up the language quickly enough. And if not, you have your special methods."

"My lord--" Shadow Weaver starts.

"That is a direct order," Lord Hordak says, and something in his voice makes all the hairs on the back of Adora's neck rise up.

"Yes, my lord," Shadow Weaver says. Adora's ears catch the sound of clothes rustling, like Shadow Weaver is bowing. "Your will be done."

Adora stays in the laundry basket for a long time after Shadow Weaver and Lord Hordak leave the rooms. Her heartbeat gradually slows down, but her mind is racing. What are wildlings? Why would Shadow Weaver have roots in Etheria? What are they trying to do with the girl?

And perhaps most importantly: What is a cat?

*     *     *

"Wake up, Adora!"

Adora gasps awake, and then immediately shuts her eyes again. Shadow Weaver has turned on all the lights in the room, and they are painfully bright.

"I'm sorry, I'm awake now," Adora says. She sits up in bed and squints one eye slightly open. Shadow Weaver is standing in the doorway, looking angry. "Sorry!" Adora repeats. "Did I miss my alarm?"

"No," Shadow Weaver says. Her lips press together, forming a thin white line. "It appears that you will have...a roommate, from now on." She shoves something forward, someone that had been hiding behind her. It takes a few moments for Adora's eyes to adjust to the light enough to see properly, but when they do, her mouth forms an "O" of surprise.

It's the girl. She is wearing a crumpled Horde uniform, and her face is dirty again, even though they just showered the other day. The hand that Shadow Weaver used to push her forward has red, raised lines. Like scratches. Adora notices all of this is in a quick glance, and then looks back at Shadow Weaver.

"There's only one bed," Adora says. "Are we going to share?"

"Certainly not," Shadow Weaver says. "The--girl is accustomed to sleeping on the floor. You have extra bedding in the drawers. If needed, you may give some to her."

Adora frowns. The floor is hard and cold, and even laying down a blanket won't help very much. But Shadow Weaver does not look like she's in a good mood, so she keeps these thoughts to herself.

"The girl is wild," Shadow Weaver says suddenly. "Keep your wits about you, as she can strike unpredictably." She folds one hand over her other hand--the one with the scratches.

"Yes, Shadow Weaver," Adora says.

"She will also be taking lessons, separately from you. I expect you to get her up each morning and deliver her to the room at the end of the hall. She will be seeing a specialist, due to her...developmental delays."

"What does that mean?" Adora asks before she can stop herself.

Sure enough, Shadow Weaver's eyes narrow at the question. "It's nothing for you to concern yourself with. She will simply be receiving extra help, as she is intellectually inferior to you. Do not let this distract yourself from your studies, Adora. I am putting her in your room as a temporary measure. Remember that you have an exam at the end of the month to evaluate your progress. Do not make me regret giving you the young cadet's textbook."

"Of course not, Shadow Weaver!" Adora says immediately. "I'm almost halfway through the book. I promise, I will have it all memorized soon."

"Very good," Shadow Weaver says. She smiles, without showing any teeth, and then turns around to leave.

"Wait!" Adora says.

"What is it?" Shadow Weaver asks sharply.

"Sorry, it's just--the girl--I mean--"

"Don't stutter."

Adora's cheeks get hot, but she presses on. "Does she have a name? What should I call her?"

Shadow Weaver pauses. "She has no name, and she does not need one."

"Why?" Adora asks.

Instead of growing irritated at Adora's questions, Shadow Weaver laughs. For some reason, her unexpected reaction makes Adora even more nervous. "Have you not had a proper look at her?" Shadow Weaver grabs the girl by the arm and pulls her from the doorway fully into the room, so that she is right under the bright lamp. The girl hisses at the light, face screwing up, but she doesn't struggle. "What does she look like to you, Adora? I know you are neither blind nor dim-witted. She is not one of us; in fact, she is barely more than a dumb beast. She is here only because her animalistic attributes may make her useful, after receiving proper training, as a weapon. And weapons do not need names."

Adora stares at her.

"Am I understood?" Shadow Weaver asks.

"Y-yes, Shadow Weaver," Adora says. Her throat is dry, and she can barely force the words out.

Without saying anything else, Shadow Weaver walks out and slams the door behind her.

After she leaves, Adora slumps back into her pillow. The girl isn't moving, still standing in the middle of the room, looking at the ground. Adora stares at her, trying to make sense of what Shadow Weaver was saying. She called the girl a beast. A weapon. But from everything Adora has learned, weapons are things. They are knives, and guns, and big machines that you can drive and use to shoot things that will blow up. Adora has even learned how to use a knife, and she will get trained in using guns, too, once she reaches the right level. It's something that she's excited about, because it will make her a better soldier. She is small, and Shadow Weaver told her that she might always stay small. But that doesn't mean that she can't still be a good Horde asset, as long as she learns how to use the right weapons that will "increase her destructive capabilities."

Adora has never looked at another person and seen a weapon. She's not even sure how it would work. People have their own thoughts and ideas. You can't control them like you can control how to point a knife. And if you tried, the person might get hurt. And what if the person said no? Adora wouldn't want to be used as a weapon. Unless...it was for something really important. If the Horde really, really needed her to.

It just seems like using people as weapons is something that princesses would do. Not the Horde.

But on the other hand, Adora has never known Shadow Weaver to be wrong. Shadow Weaver knows everything. That's why Adora is so lucky that Shadow Weaver is the one overseeing her training. She is Lord Hordak's second-in-command, after all, which means she is the smartest, strongest person in the Horde right after Lord Hordak. So maybe there's something that Adora is missing. She's still little, and she hasn't started her classes at the cadet academy yet. Once she gets smarter, she'll understand better. She just has to be patient.

Adora shoves all of these thoughts into one little box and closes the lid, just like Shadow Weaver taught her. Once her mind is calm again, Adora smiles at the girl. But the girl's head is still bowed, and she doesn't look up.

"Hi!" Adora says. Her voice sounds really loud, and the girl's left ear twitches, so Adora knows the girl heard her, but she still doesn't look up. "Um, it's still the middle of the night. And I want to get some more sleep. So...I'm going to turn off the lights. Okay?"

The girl doesn't respond.

"Hello?" Adora says.

Finally, she huffs out a sigh and decides to just go for it. She climbs out of bed and walks over to the light switch, making sure to keep plenty of distance between herself and the girl. She's about to hit the switch, but then she remembers that the girl doesn't have anything to sleep on. She should get her a blanket so that there's at least something soft between the girl and the floor. Padding over to the chest of drawers, Adora reaches in to grab the biggest, fluffiest blanket she owns. Usually, she saves it for winter, because it's so big and overstuffed. It should make even sleeping on the floor a little more comfortable. Then she spreads it over the ground. It's a little hard to manage because it's so big, but Adora clumsily folds it in two, grabbing one corner and then matching it to the other side. There. It looks like a bed now.

She looks at the girl in triumph, and is surprised to see the girl looking right at her.

"It's for you," Adora says. The words fall like big stones in the air between them. "You're welcome," Adora adds, just to get rid of the silence. Still nothing.

"Whatever," Adora mutters.

The room is instantly dark when she hits the switch, but the girl's eyes look like they're somehow glowing in the dark. Feeling uncomfortable, Adora clambers back into bed and shuts her eyes.

Ten minutes later, she's almost willed herself to sleep. She's been counting her heartbeats, six beats to each breath, to try to drift off. But out of nowhere, the side of her bed dips down, and Adora springs awake. Her knife comes to her hand easily from where it's strapped to the bedframe, and she lets out a strangled yell. It's meant to alarm, but it comes out more like a weak whimper.

All she can see of the thing that has gotten into her bed are two glowing eyes, so bright in the darkness that Adora has to shield her eyes. One blue, one yellow.

The air rushes out of Adora's lungs and she lets her arm drop to the side.

"What are you doing! You're supposed to be on the floor! Shadow Weaver said so!" Adora says in a rush.

The girl cocks her head, eyes slanting to the right. She lets out a little raspy gurgle. It would sound like a laugh, if the person doing it didn't know how to laugh.

"This is my bed! Yours is on the floor!" Adora says, to no effect. She grumbles, "I even folded you my best blanket," but she feels in her heart like it's a losing battle.

How does she know it's a losing battle? There are lots of signs, according to the young cadet's textbook. Massive casualties. New enemy reinforcements. A catastrophic change in terrain (and terrain just means storm, like a lot of rain, Adora's pretty sure).

None of those are present in this case, but Adora is still pretty sure she's not winning this fight. For one thing, the girl has started snoring. Loudly. Even if she's pretending, Adora knows the only way she's getting the girl on the floor is if she pushes the girl herself.

Sighing, Adora crosses her arms over her chest and then turns over so that her back is facing the girl. There's only a few hours until her alarm goes off, and she might as well try to get some sleep. Surprisingly, the snore is soothing, and the girl seems to radiate heat. Within a few breaths, Adora is soundly and dreamlessly asleep.

*      *      *

The air is too dry in this place, and it is loud, but in a bad way. In a way that makes all the hair on her tail stand up. There is no rustling of leaves, or chittering of furry creatures in their burrows, or whooshing of strong, wet air that smells like rain. There are no good sounds, only bad sounds, and bad feelings.

The worst feeling comes from the woman they call Shadow Weaver. She slides across the ground like a snail, and the path she leaves is slimy, gross and wrong-feeling against all of her senses. And she smells bad. It is a little bit of fear, and a little bit of anger, but there is something else, too. Something she has never smelled before in the forest. It becomes magnified whenever Shadow Weaver looks at her with hard, bright white eyes.

She thinks it may be the smell of someone who is looking at a little squirming bug on the ground and cannot decide whether to kill it.

Luckily, that is not Shadow Weaver's decision. Someone named Lord Hordak has decided to keep her alive, and he is more powerful than Shadow Weaver. To him, Shadow Weaver is the bug.

She knows all of this because she has ears. She has been in this place for less than one moon, but their language is not complex. They speak only with their mouths, and they use signifiers for each other that they call "names," because they are too stupid to tell each other apart by scent or sight. Many things in this place are stupid.

The space they kept her in at the beginning was the most stupid. It was small and dark, with bars all across one side. There was no space to move around, and she had to stay crouched, chin to her knees, neck aching. She could hear the chirping of little insects, but they never came out of the shadows to play. It was too small and too quiet and she was alone, forever. It made her chest feel tight, and her breath would come in quick gasps.

She hated it. After Shadow Weaver had come to visit her three times, she forced her wrist in between the bars and twisted a round thing until the bars swung open. She had to scrape her arm bloody to do it, but it was worth it.

That made Shadow Weaver scream. It still makes her smile to think of it. Shadow Weaver screamed, and slithered up and down the hall, and pulled at her hair with her hands. When Shadow Weaver finally found her, she slapped her across the face many times and called her an animal.

These people say animal like they are trying to say something bad, which is another stupid thing. She would rather be an animal than a stupid person like Shadow Weaver, who is not even fast enough to dodge when she scratches her arm. She tries to do it as often as possible.

The soft girl is stupid, too. With her big blue eyes, like large juicy berries, and her round soft cheeks, her gaping mouth. The soft girl always looks confused, as though she has just woken up from a nap and doesn't know where her burrow is. She likes to speak a lot of nonsense and ask strange questions, and her hands are too small and blunt to be useful. If she was in the forest, she would be dead within a week.

The soft girl reminds her of a wolf pup, a runt. Tripping over too-large paws, always a step behind the rest of the litter. Too curious and tender-hearted for its own good. She can tell that the soft girl is different from the others. There is always a big circle of space around her, no matter where she goes. Nobody tries to talk to her, and when they play their games, she does not try to join. She pretends like she isn't watching them, even though she is. The way the others treat her is like she has some kind of sickness or bad odor.

But the soft girl smells fine. Good, even. Clean and sweet and a little bit sweaty, like she has been working hard. When they bathed together, the girl was gentle and patient. The blunt little fingers felt good in her hair.

And here, in this bed, the soft girl is even softer. She sleeps motionlessly, but lets out a quiet rumble. Her mouth is still gaping open. She is warm, with no hard angles. Good to cuddle with.

It is clear that the soft girl needs protection. Wolves are supposed to have packs, but the soft girl has no pack, only the poisonous Shadow Weaver. Without a pack, the soft girl will not survive.

Luckily, she is here. She will train the soft girl. And maybe, just maybe, they can be pack together.

Chapter Text

By the time Adora's alarm rings, she has been awake for at least half an hour, and has had the time to think about a lot of things. First, that she needs to start sleeping with more blankets. The girl has stolen all of them, and Adora only has one small corner wrapped around her tummy. Her toes are freezing.

Second, she needs to teach the girl some boundaries. Somehow, even though this is Adora's bed, she's been pushed to the very edge. On the other hand, the girl is sprawled out with her arms and legs everywhere, taking up way more space than is physically possible, Adora's pretty sure. Her hair alone is taking up all of Adora's pillow, and every time Adora breathes, more of it goes up her nose.

Third, she has no idea how she's going to wake the girl up without getting scratched. Even now, the girl's claws are only inches away from Adora's neck, and she's been holding very still to avoid any painful accidents. It's clear that the girl's philosophy is attack first, apologize never, and Adora doesn't want to find out how she reacts to being awakened unexpectedly. But Adora also doesn't have another choice, because while scratches are painful, they'll be nothing compared to Shadow Weaver's punishments for disobedience. Adora shudders involuntarily, and then has to stop herself when the movement makes the girl's claws rake lightly over her jugular.

Urk. Adora has to think about this strategically. Prioritize. Top priority: getting the claws away from any place potentially life-threatening. Adora takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and then grabs the girl's hand with one of her own, pulling it away from Adora's neck. Adora's expecting the girl to leap awake, hissing, but instead, the girl barely reacts. She just curls her hand around Adora's and keeps sleeping peacefully.

That was...a partial success. Adora tries to untangle her hand from the girl's, but the girl refuses to let go, fingers tightening. Her fingers are warm and slightly sticky with sleep sweat. Adora sighs.

"Hey," she whispers. "Hey, um...you."

No response.

Adora tries again, louder. "Hello? Um, good morning? That is, it's morning. Time to get up!" Adora's voice gets steadily louder with each word, and one of the girl's ears twitches. Adora holds her breath. The girl opens one, bright yellow eye. She stares at Adora and then, very deliberately, closes her eye again.

"Hey--wait! I said, we have to get up!"

The girl doesn't bother opening her eyes this time. Instead, she lets go of Adora's hand, grabs Adora's pillow--"I was using that!"--and then shoves her head under the pillow entirely.

"That's--you--!" Adora sputters. Then she gives herself a mental shake and takes a deep breath. She is a Horde soldier. She can deal with one very annoying, very violent roommate.

For the next five minutes, Adora tries everything she can think of. She tries to tug the pillow off of the girl's head. She shouts at the top of her lungs. She shakes the girl by the shoulders. She says "please." She begs without shame.

Nothing works. Finally, Adora sits down on the corner of the bed, exhausted. All she wants is to go back to bed. But now that she's gotten up, the girl has taken over the tiny sliver of bed she had left, and has somehow snaked a body part onto every square foot of the mattress.

Adora frowns. She's not thinking about this the right way. The girl may be living with her, but right now, she is behaving like an enemy combatant. She has claimed territory and refused to respond to peace talks. If she's behaving like the enemy, then Adora has to treat her like the enemy. Adora needs to pinpoint the girl's weaknesses and "exploit all vulnerabilities." Adora eyes the girl, trying to decide where her "vulnerabilities" are. Not anywhere too close to the claws, that's for sure.

The girl has sprawled over the bed on her stomach, head under Adora's pillow and arms clutching the pillow securely. Her tail is lying limp against the blanket. Adora stares at the tail. It's long and thin, with matted fur. It's just the right width for Adora to get her small hand around...

Before she can second-guess herself, Adora grabs the tail and pulls.

The effect is instantaneous. The girl explodes out from the bed, snarling furiously, and Adora has to scuttle away to the far wall of the room.

"Sorry! Sorry!" she squeaks.

The girl stalks closer, carrying the blanket with her like a cape. She doesn't look like she's in the mood to accept an apology. For some reason, her anger makes Adora's spine stiffen up.

"Actually, no!" Adora snaps. "I'm not sorry! You were being a lump and--and disobedient!"

The girl hisses in response.

"This is my room, so I'm in charge," Adora says, and stomps her foot for emphasis.

The girl stops advancing and looks at her. She's smirking, like she's finding something amusing.

"It's true! And--I mean--aren't you hungry? Don't you want some food? If you keep sleeping, you won't have time to eat breakfast."

At the word "food," the girl cocks her head. She looks interested, finally, for the first time in the conversation. Then she pounces, and Adora doesn't even have time to scream before the girl is on her. Adora puts out her arms futilely, trying to ward off the attack, but then she realizes that there is no attack. The girl is just...sniffing her. Sniffing all around her, and patting her body down, like she's looking for something.

"It's not here! We have to go to the mess hall to get food. Duh," Adora says.

"Muh," the girl says back, and Adora almost jumps in surprise. The only reason she doesn't leave the ground is because the girl is still on top of her, and she is a lot heavier than she looks.

"Did you--did you just say something?" Adora whispers. "Can you talk?"

"Muh," the girl repeats. Adora gasps, but then something about the girl's tone strikes her. It sounds strangely emphatic and drawn out. Almost...sarcastic.

"Wait a minute," Adora says. "Are you making fun of me?"

"Funnamee?" the girl parrots. She's not even trying to hide her smirk now, smiling openly. Adora has a very close-up view of her fangs.

"I can't believe this," Adora fumes. "You can't even speak English but somehow you're still making fun of me."

The girl laughs, the same strange creaky, raspy chuckle from before. "Funnamee," she repeats in delight, and then leans in and licks a stripe up Adora's cheek. Her tongue is weird and rough, almost scratchy. Adora wrinkles her nose up and tries, unsuccessfully, to wipe her cheek off against her shoulder.

"Ugh," Adora groans. "Okay, whatever. Just get off me. If you're hungry enough to be licking me, I don't want to know what will happen if you don't eat breakfast soon."

The mention of food really is like magic. Adora is able, by repeating "food" and using some hand pointing and miming, to get the girl into a Horde uniform and finally out the door. It seems like she clawed the uniform she was wearing off in the middle of the night, so Adora has to give the girl one of her clean uniforms. It's both too baggy and too short on the girl, ballooning out around her torso but not even reaching her wrists. Adora looks down at her own round tummy and sighs, trying not to feel self-conscious. Some of the other kids like to call her a dwarf. She's not exactly sure what that means, but she does know that they mean something short, and fat, and ugly. All the other kids are taller than her, and they are strong and fast. They have long legs and flat tummies, and Adora...doesn't. She has chubby arms and chubby legs and a round, ugly tummy. Shadow Weaver scowls disapprovingly at her whenever she has to have her measurements taken for new uniforms.

The look on Shadow Weaver's face always makes Adora feel like she has a rock pressing down on her chest.

She knows she'll grow. Eventually. She just wishes it wasn't taking so long.

The girl seems to notice Adora's preoccupation with her stomach, and she slinks forward, looking curious. She reaches out and tries to prod at Adora's tummy, and Adora jumps out of the way, screeching.

"What are you doing?!"

The girl grumbles and keeps pressing forward, cornering Adora against the doorway. Adora has to ward her off bodily, shoving the girl away by the shoulders and insinuating herself through the door sideways.

"You know," Adora says, panting, "I think this is a great time to talk about boundaries."

Pausing, the girl stares at her.

"Yes. Boundaries." Adora pastes a big, toothy smile on her face, and refuses to feel bad when the girl flinches away at the sight. "You can't go poking my tummy without asking, okay? It's rude."

"Rude," the girl parrots obediently.

"Exactly! Good!" Adora says.

"Good," the girl says, nodding.

Adora beams at her proudly. She's a pretty quick learner.

"Rude. Good. Rude," the girl continues, drawing the vowels out and crossing her eyes. Then she reaches out to poke Adora again.

...Or not. Adora sighs, squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, and then just grabs the girl by the wrist and pulls her forward. "Let's just go to the mess hall. I'm starving."

"Goooooood," the girl responds happily. She makes a raspy gurgle and shifts her arm until Adora's grip slips downward, and they're holding hands instead. "Goooooood!"

*     *     *

Breakfast is messy, and loud, and messy. The girl refuses to use a fork and knife, and she eats her food by spearing everything onto her claws. Which she refused to wash beforehand! It's gross and definitely a violation of the code. Plus, the other cadets have been watching them and laughing. That's not much of a change for Adora, though, and at least this time she's not the one being laughed at.

Sighing, Adora props her chin onto her hand and watches silently as the girl continues to shovel food into her mouth. She's making happy contented noises at the same time, soft grunts and purrs.

The girl catches Adora looking at her, and she pauses just long enough to offer Adora half of a sausage, shoved onto her pinky claw.

"Mmr?" she asks.

"No thank you," Adora says primly.

The girl shoves the sausage into her mouth almost before Adora finishes the sentence.

While Adora had been distracted, two of the older cadets had walked over to their table and are now standing in front of them, arms crossed. Adora doesn't like the expressions on their faces. They have cold eager eyes and a cruel slant to their mouths, which usually means they're preparing to say something particularly hurtful. Swallowing hard, Adora puts her fork down and turns her head to look at them. In her experience, trying to avoid bullies doesn't do anything but encourage them.

The girl doesn't look like she's noticed, unwilling to pause her furious eating long enough to even glance upward.

"Good morning," Adora says, trying to keep her voice polite yet firm.

"Morning," drawls the first cadet. "Got a new friend there, Adora?"

"I think you mean first and only friend," the second cadet says without missing a beat.

"Of course, my mistake." The first cadet pauses and smiles. "Which gutter did it crawl out of? Your friend, I mean."

Adora refuses to sink to their level. She grits her teeth and keeps her shoulders back and straight, and answers them like she would anybody else. "She's staying in my room tempo--temporari--for now. And Shadow Weaver told me she's going to be part of the Horde, too, when she gets enough training. She might even be a cadet, just like you."

"Scraping the bottom of the barrel there, huh?" murmurs the second cadet, just loud enough for his voice to carry.

"Poor Shadow Weaver must be getting desperate," the first cadet says. "But I guess we can't blame her. I mean, look at who else she has to work with..."

In unison, they rake their eyes up and down over Adora's form, and then laugh.

"Shadow Weaver has perfect judgment," Adora says hotly. "She is second-in-command! She deserves all of our respect."

For some reason, this statement only makes them laugh harder, and Adora bites her tongue and glares down at the ground so she doesn't give them any ammunition. And so they can't see that her eyes are getting a little blurry with tears. She hates them. She hates them so much. But one day, she's going to get bigger and taller than all of them, and she'll be Force Captain, and then they'll have to listen to her.

In between the cadets' giggles, Adora can hear a low rumble start up. A very familiar, scratchy-sounding growl. Alarmed, she looks back up and across the table. The girl has finished all the food on her tray--and on Adora's tray, Adora notes with a mental sigh--and, without the distraction, has turned her attention to the cadets.

"Here, kitty kitty," the second cadet says with a wide smile. "Want to play?"

"Oh, no, don't--" Adora starts to say, but it's no use. The girl has already sprung across the floor and physically tackled both of the cadets, first plowing into one of them and then using the momentum to topple over into the other cadet as well.

Part of Adora knows that she should intervene. The responsible, well-trained Horde soldier part of her. But a bigger, more compelling part of Adora is keeping her rooted in her chair to watch the show.

One wouldn't think that being a disorganized, chaotic whirlwind of claws and fury would be effective without a larger strategy, Adora muses. But against all odds, the girl isn't doing too badly against two trained cadets who are probably double her body mass. She's hissing and slashing and using all the tools at her disposal, including her teeth.

In spite of herself, Adora can't help but be impressed. The girl clearly has no training or strategic plan, but she's effectively using her opponents' body weight against themselves and darting and dodging too quickly for them to follow. It's the exact tactical approach that Shadow Weaver had recommended for Adora, before sighing and remarking that they would need to keep working on Adora's speed. Somehow, without any mentor to guide her, the girl has naturally arrived at the best way to humiliate the older cadets.

Even now, the rest of the mess hall has gone quiet. Loud jeers were coming from the crowd when the girl first sprang into movement, but they have since died down into shocked silence once the cadets failed to subdue the girl in a timely manner. Indeed, Adora somewhat gleefully takes note of their mistakes. Even though they have the advantage in numbers, they are failing to work together, and even worse, their individual counterattacks look like uncoordinated, ineffectual flailing. They should be observing the girl's style of attack and adjusting themselves accordingly, but they look more panicked than anything. Adora tries to suppress a very petty, very warm glow of satisfaction. If they were on the training field, they probably wouldn't even receive passing marks for their performance.

A few minutes later, a harried-looking cadet teacher storms into the mess hall. Her hair is a mess, and she is still blinking sleep out of her eyes. Adora's seen her around before, but she can't remember her name.

"Simmer down!" she shouts. "It is much too early in the morning for this kind of crap. Save it for the training field."

"But Professor Darking," the first cadet protests.

She holds up a hand, and the cadet shuts up. "The next person to continue brawling gets a black mark, and that's final."

"Rule Five: Undisciplined brawling among Horde forces results in an automatic black mark if caught by a superior," Adora recites on cue, mouth moving faster than her brain, and then immediately regrets it.

"Right--um, yes," the teacher says, giving Adora a perplexed, side-eyed glance. Adora slides down into her seat as much as she can.

Adora's comment gets a couple of snickers, but the teacher shouts at everybody to "move your asses to class," and the mess hall clears out soon afterward. The two cadets who were hassling Adora and the girl now have torn uniforms and various scratches on their faces and extremities. They will definitely be late to class after changing into clean uniforms, and that might result in a black mark anyway if they've been tardy enough times. Adora smiles secretly to herself.

For her part, the girl has a new black eye, but her uniform is still in one piece, and she looks very pleased with herself as she lopes back to Adora on all fours.

"We're going to have to train you out of running on your hands and feet," Adora says, and then squeaks when the girl headbutts her under her chin. It knocks Adora off-balance, but there's not enough force to tumble her to the floor. And Adora can't be positive, but she has a feeling that the girl means it to be playful instead of threatening.

"You know, I think you're stronger than you realize," Adora says through a mouthful of the girl's tangled mane. The girl rumbles. Gently, Adora props her up against the table and levers them both back up until they're standing fully upright. "It's time for you to go to your special classes," Adora tells her.

The girl doesn't look very excited at the prospect, but Adora doesn't give her a chance to argue (and, judging from past experience, arguing would mean more physical tussling than actual reasoning). Instead, she grabs the girl by the hand again, curling their fingers together, and begins dragging her out of the mess hall. The girl doesn't put up too much of a fight, oddly enough. She seems happy enough to trail behind Adora, hand in hand, making quiet little growls and chirrups to herself. It sounds almost like she's making conversation, and after a few minutes, Adora starts rambling aloud.

"You'll probably have class all day, but maybe I can come get you for lunch and dinner. I'm not sure you'll be able to find your way back to the mess hall by yourself."

"Mmrow," the girl agrees.

"And it would not be good if you got lost. I mean, you've met the cadets. A lot of them are not the nicest people in the Fright Zone. They'll probably make fun of you and point you in the wrong direction just for fun," Adora says quietly.

"Fun," the girl says, but she snaps her teeth at the end of the word, making it sound more like "fut."

"Not so much fun for you," Adora says. "You should probably just wait for me to come get you. And that way I can make sure you get back to class on time after eating. Not that that seems like much of an issue--you definitely eat fast." She giggles a little, thinking about the way the girl's cheeks bulged with food as she mowed down everything in her path with single-minded determination.

The girl laughs, too, and swings their hands side to side as they continue walking. They're getting close to the room Shadow Weaver had pointed out--a narrow, red-colored door at the end of their hallway.

"You'll like it here," Adora says. "Maybe some of the cadets are kind of mean, but Lord Hordak is really strong and wise. And we're here for a good cause. Because the princesses are killing people and ruining the planet. So we have to stop them." She turns to look back at the girl, who is staring at her with bright blue and yellow eyes, inquisitive.

"I know you don't understand right now," Adora continues, "but you'll get it after a while. And you have me to explain things to you." She smiles at the girl, who smiles back tentatively. Her left fang peeks out a tiny bit over her lower lip.

"Well, we're here now." Adora points at the door. "That's where you'll be. But don't worry, I'll be back soon, okay? There's nothing to be scared of."

She knocks at the door with the hand that's not attached to the girl's. After a few seconds, the door swings open. Adora tries to peer in, but the room is almost completely dark. She can just barely make out a stooped silhouette. It doesn't look like a very welcoming place.

"Have you brought the child?" the person asks. The voice is surprisingly low and hoarse.

"Yes, she's here," Adora says. She lets go of the girl's hand and pushes her forward a little bit, encouragingly. The girl has an extremely dubious look on her face, and Adora can't find it in herself to blame her. "What, um. What kind of special training are you going to give her?" Adora asks, feeling anxious.

"Remedial language skills," the person says curtly. Then, shockingly fast, the person reaches out one thin white hand into the hallway, the papery skin briefly bathed in light, and jerks the girl into the room.

"Should I come back at lunch--" Adora starts to ask, but then stutters to a halt. The door has been slammed shut in her face. On the other side, Adora can still faintly hear hissing, and what sounds like something scratching at the door.

She hovers there for a moment, indecisive. But she has several more chapters to read of the textbook, and even if the girl is nervous about being left alone with a stranger, it's what Shadow Weaver wanted. She won't be able to keep up with the rest of them if she doesn't take these special classes first.

It's for her own good.

*     *     *

At lunch time, Adora makes a detour to the special classroom to collect the girl. The red door is still closed, but even from several paces away, Adora can hear yelling. She quickens her pace until she's almost running.

A high, frightened voice is shouting, "No! No! No!" over and over again. There's an answering roar, and the sound of something clattering against the wall. Frantically, Adora knocks on the door. When there's no response, she resorts to banging.

"Hello?" she calls out. "I'm, um--I'm here to take her to lunch!"

There's a sudden silence. Then the low, hoarse voice from before screams, "GET OUT!"

Adora jumps away from the door. But nobody comes out.

Adora leans back towards the door. "Um, do you mean me?" she calls out tentatively.

"RETURN AT THE END OF THE DAY," the voice thunders.

Adora reacts automatically to the tone of authority in his voice, and she takes a few more steps away from the door. Even at a greater distance, Adora can hear the girl snarling faintly. The sound follows her down the hallway.

*     *     *

Despite what happened at lunch, Adora returns to the red door at dinner time. The girl has to be hungry, after all. And even though Adora fully trusts Shadow Weaver's judgment, as well as the teaching skills of anyone working for the Horde, she doesn't like what she heard through the door. And sometimes, it's a Horde soldier's duty to investigate even when not strictly instructed to by a superior.

It's quiet, this time, and Adora relaxes as she walks up to the door. The lunchtime incident must have been a fluke.

She knocks three times, and then waits.

When no one responds, she knocks again.

"Excuse me?" she calls.

No response.

Adora fits her mouth to the tiny gap between the door and the doorway, and bellows, "HELLO?"

All at once, the door is jerked open, and Adora almost falls into the room. There's a white, shrunken face looking at her. Scowling at her, really. Now that she can get a better look, she can tell it's a man. Just an old, angry man.

"I told you to return at the end of the day," he says between gritted teeth.

"Yes, but--well--she needs to eat," Adora says. 

"She eats when I permit her to eat," the man says. He pulls what would be his lip back away from his teeth in a sneer, only he has no lips. Just wrinkly, papery skin.

"But she, um, she won't be able to learn properly! There are studies that show a connection between low blood sugar and deficie--defishee--bad concentration," Adora says with a stroke of inspiration. "It's in chapter five of the young cadet's textbook!"

"Are you purporting to tell me how to do my job?" the man asks dangerously. "Are you attempting to contravene a direct order, cadet?"

"I'm not a cadet," Adora says.

The man takes a deep breath, as if about to begin screaming, and she hastily adds, "I mean, no, sir. I'm sorry, sir. I'm just worried about--about my friend."

"You may refer to me not as sir, but as the Honorable Hordin. I am no common academy teacher. Your friend will be more useful to you when she can speak like a human being," the man responds. And before Adora can say anything else, he slams the door again.

Adora eyes the door for a few minutes. Then she trudges to the dining hall and loads her pockets down with anything she can carry. She even ruins her uniform pant pockets with a few greasy sausages.

*     *     *

"I'm back!" Adora says cheerfully. The girl is outside the red door waiting for her, and fortunately, the angry Honorable Hordin is nowhere to be seen. "Your teacher's kind of a grump, huh?"

The girl stays silent. When Adora reaches out to grab her hand, she shies away, glowering. Adora notices that there are a few extra bruises on the girl's cheek and arm, and she bites her lip, lets her hand fall back to her side.

"First days are always the worst. I bet he'll warm up to you soon," Adora says more tentatively.

The girl still refuses to make eye contact with Adora, but she at least follows her down the hall when Adora starts walking back to their room. Adora stares at the ground, trying to tamp down the growing queasiness in her stomach. She can't help but bring her thumb to her mouth and gnaw at a corner anxiously, even though she knows it's a disgusting habit, and Shadow Weaver always gets mad when she sees it. Adora is working on curing the habit, but some days she just can't help herself.

"It's about discipline," Adora tries again. "Pain is an effective teaching tool. Everybody knows that."

The girl snarls at her, so sudden and loud that Adora flinches away violently, almost braining her head against the wall.

"I'm sorry," she offers quietly into the ensuing silence. "I know it's...a lot to get used to. And it doesn't feel good when somebody hurts you because you get something wrong, or you do something too slowly. But it's just for your own good. Shadow Weaver says that children won't learn anything unless they get beaten for making mistakes." Adora chews harder at the pad of her thumb, trying to think of how to explain. The girl probably can't even understand most of the words coming out of her mouth.

But she has to try. Adora knows what it's like to be confused, and alone, and wanting so desperately to please but not knowing how. The not knowing is the worst part, because then you can't predict when or why you'll be hurt the next time. You can't prepare for it, brace yourself so the pain is just a physical ache, not an emotional shock too.

They're back in the room before Adora starts talking again.

"When I don't do well in my lessons, I get hurt, too. But it's not so bad because I know that Shadow Weaver is only hurting me so that I will get better. Sometimes she slaps me, or throws things at me." Adora swallows. Her throat is really dry for some reason. "When I'm really bad, sometimes she'll hold me against the wall and--and--go into my mind. That's actually the worst, even though you wouldn't think it, right? Since she's not actually hurting me. But...It just--it feels really bad. I don't know how to describe it."

At some point during that monologue, Adora has chewed so hard on her thumb that she's broken the skin. The warm, metallic taste of the blood on her tongue reminds Adora about the food that is slowly staining her uniform from the inside out.

"Oh! I almost forgot! I brought food for you. Since I figured that Hordin person wouldn't have let you eat."

At the word food, the girl glances up from where she had been glaring at a spot just below Adora's left ear, and then she looks down again just as quickly. Her stomach lets out a loud rumble, and Adora smiles, knot in her stomach loosening a little.

"Yeah, I've had a lot of hungry days, too. I know it sucks to go to bed on an empty stomach. Here, I got some bread rolls and sausages from the mess hall. I couldn't bring any of the soup, but--"

Adora breaks off when the girl gets tired of waiting for Adora to finish talking, and takes action for herself by sticking both hands into Adora's uniform pockets. She's very efficient, and within a few minutes, all of the food has disappeared into her mouth.

"There's no more!" Adora yelps as the girl turns each pocket inside out, nose sniffing at the grease stains hopefully. "I'm sorry, there just wasn't room to bring more. And I didn't want anybody getting suspicious about my bulging pockets."

The girl sits back on her heels and grumbles. But at least she's looking Adora in the eyes again, and her expression is more considering than angry. She reaches one finger out and pokes Adora in the belly firmly.

"Oof! Yes, I already ate. But thank you for asking," Adora says. Slowly, she gets down onto her knees so that she and the girl are at the same level. There's a dark, spreading bruise at the edge of her chin, and a small scab at the corner of her lips that Adora is pretty sure wasn't there this morning. The marks are almost invisible against the girl's dark skin. Carefully, telegraphing her movements, Adora reaches out to gently touch it.

The girl doesn't move. Instead, her brilliant multi-colored eyes drift shut, slowly, and she exhales in a long, drawn-out breath.

"I bet that hurts," Adora whispers.

The girl snorts and curls her lip to reveal one shining fang.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure you got the better of him." Adora rolls her eyes fondly. Maybe it's because the girl's face is so expressive, or maybe Adora's finally going as loony as all the other kids think she is, but Adora almost feels like she can carry a conversation with the girl now. Like she can understand what the girl is trying to tell her, even if they don't speak the same language.

"I'll ask Shadow Weaver for some healing salve when she comes in for the night," Adora says, still in a soft whisper. "It'll help you heal more quickly. Also, I just like the smell. It's really nice and relaxing. Smells like plants, which probably remind you of--of wherever you came from, huh?"

The girl's lips turn downward when Adora says the name Shadow Weaver, but she stays otherwise still as Adora pets her cheek with gentle, slightly trembling fingers. Adora pauses the movement when an unhappy thought strikes her.

"Do you want to go home? I mean--you probably don't like it here very much."

Rumbling under her breath, the girl rolls her shoulders like she's saying, duh.

"I'm sorry." Adora blinks, hard. "I've never known anyone who wanted to leave the Fright Zone before. It's dangerous out there, you know. You could be captured and tortured by princesses. And...and to be honest, I don't know if Shadow Weaver will let you go," she confesses, all in one breath, words tumbling over each other to get out before Adora loses her nerve. Adora feels guilty about even thinking that the Horde would keep anyone against their will, but Adora has a bad feeling deep in her gut. She's still not totally certain how to interpret the conversation she overheard from the day before, but she does know that Lord Hordak and Shadow Weaver have some kind of plan for the girl. A long-term plan.

"I'm glad you're here, though," Adora says. She reaches out and grabs one of the girl's hands, presses it hard to try to show that she really, truly means it. "I mean, you're kind of violent and scratch-y, and you hog all of my covers, but...It's good to have a friend."

Maybe the girl can't understand her, maybe she can, but it doesn't matter. The girl grips Adora's hand back just as hard, her claws making light pinpricks into Adora's skin.

"I'll do my best to protect you, okay?" Adora whispers. "I promise."

Three small beeps are all the warning Adora gets before the door makes a deafening BANG as it's thrown open, and Adora jumps to her feet on instinct. Shadow Weaver storms into the room, hair fanning out behind her, and tendrils of smoke twining their way through the air. Her eyes flick toward the girl, still huddled on the floor, and then back to Adora.

"Report in my room in five minutes, Adora."

Chapter Text

Adora can remember a time when Shadow Weaver's room was her favorite place in the Fright Zone. It was warm, and Adora could sit on a cushion on the floor while Shadow Weaver brushed her hair and told her stories about princesses. In this room, Shadow Weaver never yelled at her, or slapped her, or hurled objects at her. Instead, she was calm and patient, slim fingers carding through Adora's hair and putting it up on a ponytail each morning.

When Adora was younger, Shadow Weaver was very careful to use the punishment room whenever she needed to discipline Adora. The punishment room is located at the opposite end of the Fright Zone complex, and it's sound-proofed and supplied with the proper disciplinary equipment. The punishment room became a source of terror to Adora, so bad that Adora would avoid even walking past the room, taking different routes through the hallways even if they took twice as long. Adora was still little then, though. She can walk past it with no problem now. Sometimes she even peeks inside, just to prove to herself that she can. The hooks and restraints aren't so scary now that they aren't hovering far above her head.

But at some point, and Adora can't pinpoint exactly when, Shadow Weaver stopped bothering to keep such a careful delineation between punishment and reward. Maybe it was when Adora didn't grow as fast as she expected. Or when Adora flubbed reciting Lord Hordak's precepts during a meeting with him. Or maybe it was when she realized that Adora was just too dumb and slow to be her real daughter.

Now, Shadow Weaver's room is just as fair game as the punishment room for discipline. The room is the same as it's always been--cushion on the floor, bed in the center, a large mirror at one end. But now when Adora comes in, she doesn't feel happiness or safety. She doesn't feel sad, either. She just feels empty.

"Close the door," Shadow Weaver instructs, and Adora obeys, closing the adjoining door between their chambers. Before she slides the door completely shut, she can see that the girl has climbed onto Adora's bed and looks supremely uninterested in the proceedings.

Shadow Weaver keeps only one lamp in the room, hanging down low from the center of the ceiling. It casts a reddish-orange glow and throws strange shadows around the room. Sometimes, it looks like the shadows are moving even though the lamp is perfectly still.

"Well? Report." Shadow Weaver says, annoyed. She has turned away from Adora and is staring into the mirror.

"I finished three chapters of the young cadet's textbook today. I'm almost at the end," Adora says tentatively.

"Very good. And?"

"I'll start memorizing the important points soon so that I'll be ready for the evaluation with Lord Hordak," Adora continues.

"And?"

"I'd like to get some more maps, if possible. It's a little hard to see the scale of Rebellion territory in the textbook, and if Lord Hordak asks about it, I--"

"Adora." Shadow Weaver spins around and levels a glare, and Adora twists her fingers together, trying not to break eye contact like she so desperately wants to.

"Yes, Shadow Weaver?" Adora says. Her voice cracks in the middle.

"You've been my ward almost since the moment you were born. I've poured valuable resources, years of my time, into raising you. I have selected you specifically, Adora, and given you my special attention to train you to become better than the rest of your peers."

"Yes, Shadow Weaver," Adora says when she pauses meaningfully.

"In our years together, when did it occur to you that I enjoy purposeful displays of stupidity?"

"Never." Despite Adora's best efforts, her voice comes out no louder than a whisper. Her eyes drop to the ground.

"Then stop being an idiot." Shadow Weaver's voice lashes out like a whip through the air. "I want you to report on that little beast, not on your own inchingly slow development."

"The girl?" Adora asks.

Shadow Weaver doesn't bother to respond to her question, instead beginning to pace back and forth before the mirror. "The Honorable Hordin tells me that the beast is a rude, uncooperative, and thoroughly unintelligent pupil. She revels in her own savagery and resorts to brute violence when asked to complete even the simplest tasks. Indeed, he believes that the bio-structure of her mouth and throat may be physically incapable of the muscle movements required to form anything but the most basic of sounds, in which case she will forever remain a dumb animal, good for nothing but hurling itself bodily against the first available obstacle. In other words, cannon fodder."

"That's just not true!" Adora bursts out, shock overriding her basic survival instincts.

"Are you calling Hordin a liar?" Shadow Weaver asks, but when Adora sputters and shrinks back, she only smirks and waves her hand. "The old bag is past his time, I must admit. Have you made any observations that might contradict his...shall we say, less than optimistic assessment?"

"She's not a dumb animal! And she's capable of talking, I've heard her myself," Adora says hotly.

Shadow Weaver pauses so abruptly that her dress flares up behind her. Slowly, she turns and looks at Adora. "Are you saying that you've conversed with the beast?"

"I don't--I mean, kind of," Adora says.

"Speak clearly or don't speak at all!"

Adora swallows and takes a deep breath, willing herself not to stumble over her words. "We haven't really had a full conversation, but she will imitate words that I'm saying," she explains slowly. "Even phrases. She can repeat them after me. And I can tell that she understands at least some of what I'm saying. So she's not in--incapable of talking. She just needs to learn."

"Mm." Shadow Weaver glides closer to Adora, face assessing. "So she can mimic you. Like a parrot."

"I--I don't know what that is," Adora says. "But I know that she can talk, if she has a good teacher."

"I'm not sure the Honorable Hordin would appreciate what you are implying, Adora," Shadow Weaver says, but she's smiling like there's a joke that only she can understand. "From the mouths of babes. Very well. Since you are so interested in the brat, I'll give you an opportunity."

"What do you mean?" Adora asks, heart thudding.

"I will give full responsibility of her progress to you," Shadow Weaver says. She reaches out a hand and tenderly cups Adora's cheek. Adora leans into the touch, but Shadow Weaver removes her hand in the next breath. "You will keep the beast on track and train her in what it means to be a loyal member of the Horde. She will remain under Hordin's tutelage--precocious though you are, you cannot replace a professionally trained if decrepit teacher. But I expect you to assist her in whatever homework assignments and exercises needed to cultivate her speech. You may prepare regular reports for me on her progress and needs. And in the end, you will be wholly responsible for molding her into an asset that the Horde can fully utilize."

Adora can only manage a jerky nod. Inside, her head is whirling with thoughts. She may not understand all of the complicated words Shadow Weaver is using, but it's clear that she's gifting Adora with a lot of responsibility. A big part of Adora feels nervous, feels like she won't be able to live up to Shadow Weaver's expectations. But even though being afraid is probably the smart reaction, Adora can't help but feel...joy. She knows that her physical progress has stalled, that Shadow Weaver is disappointed that Adora isn't yet able to match the cadets in their training exercises. She had been worried, like a constant nagging toothache on the edge of her consciousness, that Shadow Weaver would eventually give up. Throw her away to someone else to train, because Adora clearly isn't worth the effort.

But this changes everything. Shadow Weaver trusts her. Even better than that, she believes in her and thinks that Adora can help guide this girl just like Shadow Weaver guided Adora. Adora finally has a chance to show Shadow Weaver that fostering her wasn't a mistake. Adora has learned and absorbed everything that Shadow Weaver ever told her, and she'll prove it by teaching the girl just as well.

Somehow, even though nothing about Shadow Weaver's room has changed in the last five minutes, being in it feels almost like it had in the early days. Warm and cozy and brimming over with possibility.

"I won't let you down," Adora promises.

Shadow Weaver smiles thinly. "I know you won't, Adora."

*     *     *

By the time the girl is stirring, Adora has already written two full pages in her rounded, slightly shaky handwriting. At the top of one page, she has printed in all caps, LONG-TERM STRATEGIC PLAN. The second page is titled DAILY SKEDULE. She was barely able to sleep all night, thoughts racing too fast for her to drift off. But it's a good kind of sleeplessness, the kind that comes from excitement instead of fear or force.

She has a vision, and even if the details still need to be fleshed out a little bit, Adora knows she's heading in the right direction. She's going to be the best trainer in the Horde by the time she's done.

The first step in the plan involves Adora ringing a bell that she has...requisitioned from Shadow Weaver's dresser. It lets out a clanging peal directly in the girl's soft ear tufts. The effect is immediate and satisfying.

"Rrrooowwrr!" the girl roars, exploding onto all fours and looking around herself wildly.

"Goooood morning, cadet-in-training!" Adora says. She beams as the girl's face changes from confusion to incredulity to slow, simmering rage.

"I hope you slept well," Adora chirps. "Today is day one of your training. Shadow Weaver has put me in charge of your development. You can call me Coach Adora!"

The only response the girl has is a low growl. Her shoulders are hunched over where she's crouched on the bed, and her tail is sticking straight up behind her.

"First things first, you need a--" Adora screws her face up as she tries to remember the right way to say it, "proper form of address. We need to give you a name worthy of a cadet. Sound good?"

The girl hisses.

"No," Adora says, trying to sound firm. "You have to start using words. I might know what you mean, but others, like the Honorable Hordin, don't. So when I ask you a question like that, you should say, yes, Coach Adora."

The girl looks at her silently.

"Yes, Coach Adora," Adora prompts.

"No," the girl says.

"Great job!" Adora says excitedly, before she registers what the girl said. "Wait, no, that's not right--"

"No," the girl repeats, and then turns around so that Adora is talking to her butt instead of her face. Her tail makes a little flick in Adora's direction.

"Well, I guess it's good that you know how to say no..." Adora says, mostly just talking to herself. "That's still better than before! So, okay. You're still doing a good job."

The girl looks over her shoulder at Adora and raises her eyebrows. Then she says, "Yes."

"Yes! That's so good!" Happily, Adora scrambles onto the bed and throws an arm around the girl, forcing her to slump against Adora's side.

"Urk," the girl says.

"This is great," Adora says. "You are doing really well, okay? You've only been learning to talk for a few days, and you're already saying yes and no. That's huge."

"Yes," the girl says again, a smile beginning to play around her mouth. Then, taking advantage of their close proximity, she sticks out her tongue and licks Adora right on her nose.

"No!" Adora says, leaning back and wrinkling her nose.

"Yes!" the girl responds.

"Good job," Adora says again, somewhat reluctantly. She still needs to reward the girl for talking, even if she keeps getting her spit all over Adora. "Now let's talk names."

"No," the girl says.

Adora ignores her. "Shadow Weaver is a cool name, right?"

"No," the girl mutters.

"Maybe we could do something with that. Shadow Runner? Shadow Spinner?"

In response, the girl digs her claws into Adora's thighs until they're painful.

"Fine! Fine. What about Lord Hordak? You can't go wrong being named after him. Horda? Hordella?"

"No."

Five minutes later, after Adora has run through the names of everyone she knows in the Horde, she is ready to strangle the girl. The girl, sitting slumped against the headboard, is watching Adora like she's an only slightly interesting show being put on for her entertainment.

"What about my name?" Adora asks in desperation. "Adora? How do you feel about that?"

Instead of an immediate no, the girl rolls her head from side to side, like she's weighing the name in her mind. "'Dora," she says.

"Right!" Adora says, lunging for the girl's hesitation like a lifeline. "Yes, okay. So, you like that?"

"'Dora," the girl says, and shrugs one shoulder up and down.

"Well, we can't give you the same name as me," Adora says, slightly defensive. "I mean, it's my name. Shadow Weaver gave it to me. And it would get really confusing, anyway."

Heaving out a big sigh, the girl drops her chin down to her chest and looks at Adora through heavily lidded eyes, as if to say, now what?

"I guess we could give you a name that sounds similar..." Adora frowns, trying to think. "Adora...Ladora...Fedora..."

Suddenly, the word that Shadow Weaver used to describe the girl comes to Adora. Not any of the mean ones, like beast or animal, but the other word. She had called the girl a cat.

"What about cat?" Adora says slowly, trying to figure it out as she talks. "Maybe we could combine it with my name. Adoracat? No, that would definitely get the other cadets to make fun of us even more. Cat--ora? Catra?"

Across from her, the girl lets out a big, jaw-cracking yawn. Her fangs catch the light, and she smiles sleepily afterward.

"Does that sound good to you? Catra?" Adora asks. "Please, for the love of Lord Hordak, say it sounds okay."

Looking indulgent, the girl waves her hand and mumbles, "Yeh." A sigh of relief rushes out of Adora.

"Awesome! It's very nice to meet you, Catra," Adora says, sketching out a half-bow as best she can while still seated on the bed.

"'Dora," the girl says in response.

"Well, now that we have officially met, I can tell you that we are definitely way behind schedule. Let me just explain the schedule we're supposed to follow, okay?"

Catra slumps over until she is almost entirely horizontal again, head mostly in Adora's lap. With one hand, Adora grabs the paper, and with the other, she combs her fingers through the girl's hair. Hair combing's not technically written on the schedule, but Adora remembers how good it felt when Shadow Weaver put up her hair for her. Until Adora got big enough to do her own hair, of course.

With Catra's quiet rumbling in the background, Adora runs through the main points of the schedule. "Each morning, we will get up half an hour before breakfast so that we can get ready for the day. While you put on your uniform, I will drill you in Lord Hordak's precepts, because they teach you how to be a good Horde soldier. Then we go to breakfast, and we will review whatever homework the Honorable Hordin has given you. I'll try to wrap some extra food in napkins for you, in case the Honorable Hordin doesn't believe in meal breaks ever. And then at night, we'll come back home together."

"Home," Catra says in a sing-song tone. She reaches for Adora's hand, the one petting her head, and laces their fingers together.

A blossom of warmth and accomplishment is welling up inside of Adora, and she leans over to smile at Catra. "Exactly," Adora says. "Welcome to the Horde, Catra."

Catra brings their hands to her mouth and starts to nibble at Adora's fingers.

*     *     *

Despite Catra's best efforts, Adora manages to get them both into a comfortable routine by the end of the week. Mornings are probably the hardest--at the beginning, Adora thought that maybe Catra was just really sleep deprived, and that was why it was so hard to get her up and going in the morning. By day 4, though, Adora is almost positive that's just the way Catra is. Sleeping in is as important a part of her personality as picking fights and hoarding food. Adora's persistent, though, and she's good at adapting. Failure is not an option.

She's found that a combination of ringing the bell and reciting Lord Hordak's precepts at the top of her lungs has been pretty effective. Plus, it's multi-purpose. By the time Adora gets through calling out the first precept, "MAINTAIN ORDER AT ALL TIMES," shouting the second precept, "LOYALTY TO THE HORDE ABOVE ALL OTHER MATERIAL ATTACHMENTS," and is halfway through hoarsely yelling the third, "THE COLLECTIVE TRUMPS THE INDIVIDUAL," Catra is usually groaning her way to wakefulness. She's always slow and grumpy in the mornings, glaring through slitted and bleary eyes, knuckling away endless yawns and, at least once a day, trying to sneakily nap on Adora's shoulder.

This strategy to wake Catra, which Adora can implement remotely, also minimizes collateral damage. Namely, getting scratched up because she was standing too close. That only happened once, though, and Catra looked immediately abashed. She also tried to lick the scratch repeatedly until Adora finally managed to push her away, palm against her forehead.

It helps that Catra's been picking up new words at the speed of wildfire. She can say "yes," even though she still usually defaults to "no," she can say "good" and "bad," and, probably most importantly to Catra, she can whine for "food." At the weirdest moments, like the middle of the night or on their way to class right after breakfast, she will turn to Adora and say, eyes wide and hopeful, "food?" As though she thinks Adora was too blind to notice her stuffing her pockets full of whatever she could take from the mess hall five minutes before. Even so, Adora is ashamed to admit that she's also taken to sneaking snacks from the mess hall in her pockets--small things, food that won't make too much of a mess. It's just easier to give into the big, pleading eyes when it's over something as small as a snack.

Adora makes it a point to hold firm on the important things, though. Catra's new favorite words are "stupid" and "attack," usually used together. For example, at breakfast, Catra caught sight of the two older cadets who had harassed them on their first day. She pointed and said, emphatically, "Stupid." And when Adora nodded vehemently in agreement, she smirked and said, more quietly, "Attack?"

Despite several repetitions of the request, Catra's best wide-eyed pleading expression, and even a painstaking "P-peas?" Adora stood resolute. "Remember the first precept?" Adora reminded her. Catra slouched down in her seat and rolled her eyes. Undeterred, Adora continued, "Maintain order! At all times! Even when other kids are being really stupid and mean. That's what sets us apart from the princesses, you know. Order and honor. And not killing and torturing, of course."

Even though Catra clearly doesn't fully grasp the precepts yet, Adora still can't help but feel proud of how far she's come. She's a smart and quick learner, even if she is easily distracted. It feels good, somewhere in the corner of Adora's chest, tucked behind her heart, to see Catra accumulating more words everyday. Catra might despise the Honorable Hordin and go into class with the attitude of the soon-to-be-executed, but he must be doing something right. And Adora does everything she can to help Catra along, practicing new words with her, correcting her pronunciation, and, most critically, making sure Catra knows when she's doing a good job.

It might sound dumb, but Adora tries to show Catra whenever she gets a word right, whether it's by giving her a compliment, or, if they're in public, just giving her a little nudge and a smile. Catra usually reciprocates by giving Adora a much more forceful nudge, with her head, against whatever part of Adora is closest (and, Adora suspects, most vulnerable). It's the one thing Adora's doing that's really different from the approach Shadow Weaver took when she trained her. Shadow Weaver doesn't believe in encouragement or consistent praise. It doesn't seem like anyone in the Fright Zone does. But Adora can remember how it made her feel the few times that Shadow Weaver told her that she did a good job, or that she was special. Hearing those words made all of her other thoughts quiet down, the ones about being stupid and fat and unwanted. Instead, all that was left was a buzzing, giddy burst of happiness and renewed determination.

And even though Shadow Weaver and the other cadets might be strong enough not to need that kind of encouragement, Adora doesn't want Catra to have to be that strong. She's already in a completely new place, surrounded by strange people who speak a language she can't really understand. Adora can't control a lot about what Catra's going through, but what she can do is make sure that, during their time together, Catra knows that Adora is paying attention to her. That she sees how much Catra is trying, and she's so proud of her she could burst.

Best of all, Adora can tell that it's working. Catra might roll her eyes or snort at Adora, but when Adora tells her she's awesome or super smart, the faintest red tinge starts at the bridge of her freckled nose and works its way out. She slouches, usually, but at these words her shoulders get straighter, and Adora can convince her to keep practicing for at least a few minutes more than otherwise.

On days like today, when the Honorable Hordin releases Catra for a rest day each week, Adora has plans to bring Catra to the training field. She can tell that Catra misses being outside by the way her eyes will stray to the window in every room they're in, looking solemn and wistful and just a little bit sad. Being in the training field is probably a lot different from wherever Catra used to call home, but it's got to be at least better than being cooped up in the tiny, dark room with the stooped and stinky Hondorable Hordin. Adora didn't notice it before, but ever since Catra pointed it out by literally pointing and then pinching her nose shut, she can't stop smelling a weird, ever-present musty scent around the man. She wonders if she'll start smelling bad when she gets old, too.

She hasn't told Catra, yet, that they're going outside. She wants it to be a surprise. She can already imagine Catra's face when she realizes they're going outside for an extended period of time. She'll probably scrunch up her nose and smile so wide that her fangs poke out completely, gleaming in the sunlight, and she'll laugh that hoarse sandpaper laugh.

Catra's already looking a little confused--they've turned the wrong way from the mess hall to be going to the Honorable Hordin's room, and Catra has the best sense of direction of anyone Adora has ever met. Her expression is half wary, half hopeful, and she keeps sneaking questioning glances at Adora, but Adora holds firm and pretends she doesn't notice. It's hard to keep her lips from twitching upward in anticipation.

Finally, five minutes later and halfway to the fields, Catra gives in and shoves her face against Adora's, demanding, "'Dora?"

"Yes, Catra?" Adora says sweetly, acting like Catra isn't crabwalking sideways so that she can keep staring at Adora accusingly.

It's a lot easier than might be expected. Adora's gotten used to Catra popping up in surprising places. She's taken to following Adora around, even to places like the bathroom. She's constantly looming behind Adora's left shoulder, and she somehow walks completely silently without trying. Adora has jumped and bumped her head against more than a few things--bathroom stall, locker door, Catra's head--at the sound of Catra's raspy voice saying, emphatically, "'Dora!" On the outside, Adora pretends like she minds. She huffs and puffs and pushes Catra away, but the girl never seems to mind. It's like she can tell that on the inside, Adora is secretly, seriously, embarrassingly grateful to have Catra around.

Adora doesn't like to use words like "lonely." Only babies and losers are lonely. But ever since Shadow Weaver instructed her to start on her intensive preparation for admittance into the cadet academy, Adora has been...alone, most of the time. She studies alone and eats alone and goes to bed alone. The most anyone ever talks to her is Shadow Weaver, asking for a brief update on her progress.

So when Catra repeats, "'Dora," this time with a whining undertone, Adora is able to keep smiling placidly and looking straight ahead.

"What's up, Catra?"

"What, why--where," Catra finally spits out, shoulders hunched and eyes glaring.

"I'm so glad you asked!" Adora chirps. "We're going outside!"

"Out...side?" Catra says quizzically.

"I'll show you," Adora says, finally giving in and looking over at Catra. At the sight of the girl's confused, slack mouth, Adora can't help but let her smile spread over her face. "Come on!" She grabs a hold of Catra's hand, and Catra laces their fingers together automatically. Catra is smiling now, too, like just the sight of Adora's happiness is enough to make her forget her confusion and frustration.

Adora tugs a little, and Catra goes easily. They break into a jog, and then a run, Catra keeping up without a problem. Their laced hands are keeping Catra from breaking into her usual four-limbed run, a useful discovery that Adora files away in her brain. They pass several people in the hallway, but apart from a few strange looks, no one stops them. Ahead of them, the large archway to the training field looms large, and they burst through the heavy double doors in one forceful push.

All at once, the sunlight streams down, and Adora has to blink her eyes several times to adjust. It's always like this when she comes to the training field. Much of the Fright Zone compound is dimly lit, usually with a greenish tinge, and the shocking yellow force of the sun always requires a few seconds to adapt. The field is mostly empty, since the cadets should all be in class, and only a few exceptions are running through exercises in the corner.

Beside her, Catra's face has smoothed out into blankness. Her pupils, already narrow, have contracted into tiny slits, and the blue and yellow of her eyes look larger and rounder than ever. She's released Adora's hand, but instead of running out to explore the field, she's just standing there. Motionless.

"It's the training field," Adora says tentatively. "I thought we could maybe go through some training exercises. I can teach you the really basic ones to start off with."

Catra's nose twitches slightly, like she's smelling something. Adora's not sure what--the field is mostly sand, although there are some plants along the far edges that the groundskeeping staff haven't cleared away. Maybe the rubber of the training equipment? Or the sweat of the cadets training in the corner?

"Outside," Catra says slowly, so soft that Adora almost doesn't catch it.

"Yeah. We're outside," Adora responds. She's beginning to feel a little worried--maybe Catra doesn't want to be outside. Or maybe she only likes surprises when she's on the other end, shocking someone else (usually Adora).

At the pace of a snail, Catra tilts her face up until the sunlight is falling directly on it. Her skin glows golden in a way Adora has never seen inside the compound. Catra's chest rises and falls, deeply, as she inhales and exhales.

"You don't like it?" Adora ventures.

Catra opens her eyes and turns to look over at Adora. Then she lunges, so fast that Adora can only widen her eyes in alarm and squeak before she's bowled over. Catra's gotten heavier, even in the past few days, and her warm weight pinning Adora down is hard to push off. Ignoring Adora's struggles, she tucks her head under Adora's chin and headbutts her, but gently, and lets out a low rumble.

"Good," Catra pronounces. And then, decisively, she says, "Sleep now."

Five minutes of wrestling and prodding and dragging Catra back to her feet, Adora's finally able to start their training regimen. For some reason, Catra keeps trying to nap, curled up in the golden sunlight.

The training exercises that Adora has in mind are simple, but the results are somewhat mixed. Adora has to admit that Catra's natural instincts are spot-on. She's smart and fast and very, very slippery, and she's able to wriggle her way out of any hold that Adora tries to use on her. But she doesn't like to follow the training forms, instead inventing her own ways to escape and overpower Adora. And she isn't enjoying Adora's attempts to correct her, hissing and flicking her tail dismissively.

Finally, Adora tries a different tack. "You're probably tired of everyone telling you what to do all the time. What about if you teach me what you're doing? And we spend some time doing that, with you in charge. But then afterward, we'll learn some of the cadet exercises? We could even try combining them!"

Catra cocks her head before nodding, a strange, anticipatory glint in her eye. Before Adora can ask and make sure that Catra understands what Adora just said, Catra's already leaping into action.

What follows are ninety minutes of the strangest training that Adora has ever experienced. Catra is a silent, mostly physical teacher, showing Adora what she wants and then manually moving her body to fit it if Adora can't mimic her exactly.

And what she wants is for Adora to practice pouncing, and clawing, and twisting in mid-air to land on her feet. A few of those skills don't really seem to be physically possible for Adora. She has to swap out the claws for a knife, but then Catra teaches her to use it like it's a part of her hand, lashing and stabbing and twisting so that anywhere Adora can reach will turn into a deadly encounter. And the twisting in mid-air is painful. Adora has more bruises up and down her body than when Shadow Weaver caught her dozing off during one of Lord Hordak's evaluation meetings. But by the end, even if she can't land entirely on her feet, she's falling in a way that helps her recover faster and roll to her feet to meet any oncoming attacks.

It's strange and exhilarating and exhausting, all at the same time. And even though none of the moves that Catra is teaching Adora have been approved by Shadow Weaver, or any of the Horde teachers, for that matter, Adora doesn't feel like she's been wasting time. She feels like she's been learning something entirely new, that no one else in the Horde knows. There is a little bit of guilt, creeping in at the edges, a little bit of fear that she's doing something she shouldn't be.

But Catra is beaming at her, looking proud, and wiping dirt off of Adora's cheeks with a satisfied air. She says, "Good!" so many times in a row that it doesn't sound like a word anymore, just endless "goodgoodgoodgoods" until Adora is helpless with giggles. So even if their training wasn't exactly according to Horde guidelines, Adora doesn't regret it.

She'll teach Catra some textbook Horde maneuvers soon enough, anyway. Just after they finish a very brief nap, pillowed up on top of each other warm and comfortable in the sun.

Chapter Text

When Adora brought up, a little anxiously, the possibility of studying more maps of the Rebellion's territory to Shadow Weaver again, this isn't what she expected to happen. Shadow Weaver tolerated her repeated question without too much annoyance, just snapping at Adora to go find "that Darking woman." And then she called Professor Darking a cartogra-something. It was a long word that sounded important, even though Shadow Weaver was sneering when she said it.

When Adora asked the question, she wasn't expecting Shadow Weaver to send her off to a different teacher entirely. Shadow Weaver didn't do things like that before. She would take her time and teach Adora herself, because that was the only way she knew that it would be done right. Lately, though, she's barely been spending any time with Adora. She only comes back to their shared rooms for a few hours each night, and then leaves again without saying anything. Adora hasn't even been able to give her regular updates on Catra's progress, although she's been keeping notes about the past couple of weeks, as detailed as she can manage, in her mission log.

Being sent off, alone, to talk to an unfamiliar Horde teacher makes Adora nervous, and not just because the Honorable Hordin turned out to be such a grump. She's never really spoken to any of the teachers besides Shadow Weaver, and they haven't spoken to her either. Shadow Weaver kept her apart from the other young cadets, and she never entrusted Adora's training to other teachers before. It seems like everyone knew that she was Shadow Weaver's ward, so when she was around, they mostly just treated her like a piece of furniture--present in your field of vision, but nothing to pay attention to or worry about.

She's not even positive about what to call Professor Darking. Can she call her "Professor" even if she's hasn't entered the cadet academy yet? Does she have a prefix, like the Honorable Hordin? Can Adora even address her before being spoken to first?

Adora is so preoccupied with her sudden and total confusion over the most basic rules of social interaction that she walks right past Professor Darking's office. To be fair, the door is easy to miss. It's small and gray and set into a small alcove, blending into the surrounding stone. There's a small placard affixed to the door, with PROFESSOR DARKING written in all capital letters. Below the placard, there is a small sign saying: "Knock at your own risk! All trespassers will be subjected to tortuously long monologues on geography." A doodle of a smiling face has been drawn in the corner.

Adora blinks at the sign, taken aback. What does it mean? Why is it talking about torture? Is it safe for her to knock? Maybe she should just go back to her room and study the textbook some more. But the smiling face doesn't look very threatening.

Before Adora can make a decision, the door swings open, and Adora lets out a squeak of surprise. Professor Darking almost collides into her, stopping at the last moment and grabbing Adora by the shoulders to steady herself. A wave of faintly herbal perfume follows Professor Darking, and her curly brown hair bobs out in all directions, obscuring any view into the room.

"Oh! I'm sorry." The professor frowns at her, and then takes two steps back and adjusts her glasses as if to take a better look at her. "Adora, is it?"

"Um, yes," Adora says, and is thankfully saved from deciding how to address Professor Darking when she's interrupted.

"Listen, can this wait? I was just about to run to the bathroom--you know how it is, got carried away with my research and forgot I had to take care of my bodily functions. Be back in five, okay? Get comfortable in my office."

The rapid patter of Professor Darking's words washes over Adora, and she nods dumbly without understanding most of it. Professor Darking flashes her a quick smile, dimples carved deep into dark cheeks, and then rushes off. She leaves the office door open behind her.

Glancing over her shoulder back at the professor, Adora decides to follow her instructions and go into her office. It's better than standing in the hallway, anyway. But her office door leads to another narrow hallway, lined on one side with closed doors, that opens abruptly into a large, circular room that is flooded with light. For a moment, Adora thinks that she's somehow made her way outside into the sunlight. But it's just an illusion--large windows flank one half of the circle, and on the other half, dozens upon dozens of maps are attached to the wall. They come in all shapes and sizes and colors, and Adora reaches out a finger to gently trace a meandering blue line on velvety paper before snatching it back and checking behind herself to make sure she's still alone.

There are even more maps spread out on a long table pushed to one side of the room, and even a low couch next to the table has several rolled up pieces of parchment. Adora doesn't need to use Lord Hordak's Rules of Deduction to guess that those rolls are probably more maps. It seems like she's definitely come to the right place to find more maps of the Rebellion's territory.

A low-pitched hoot comes from directly behind Adora, and she jumps forward on instinct, scrambling to turn around immediately afterward. Is this part of the torture? All she can see is a small animal that she could have sworn wasn't there before, perched on the edge of the table. It's small and speckled brown and grey, with two pointy ears rising from its head. Round yellow eyes stare at Adora in what looks like reproach, and she glares back defiantly. It hoots again, but Adora refuses to satisfy it by scooting further away.

"Did Stanley scare you? He's friendlier than he looks."

"Oh!" Adora spins around again, hands hugging the wall. Professor Darking is standing in the entryway, regarding her with a slightly perplexed air.

"Is everything okay? You seem kind of...twitchy," Professor Darking says. She adds in a mutter, "Even more than I would expect from someone being raised by Shadow Weaver."

"S-sorry, Professor," Adora mumbles. "And I'm sorry for not knocking. I'm just, um. Can I call you professor?" she askes in a rush. Her cheeks heat, and she fights the urge to cover her face with her hands. Her words always get jumbled up when she's nervous.

Instead of chiding her for her disorganization, Professor Darking says, "Call me anything you want, as long as it's not rude," and winks.

Adora stares at her wordlessly.

"Or you could just call me professor. That definitely works." She puts her hands on her hips and eyes Adora. "Why don't you sit down? The couch is pretty comfortable."

Unwilling to turn her back to the professor, or Stanley, Adora edges around the curve of the room until she reaches the couch, and then she sits down, carefully avoiding any maps.

Professor Darking walks over to the table and leans against it, resting a casual hand on Stanley's head. Stanley hoots again, and she laughs, bright and sudden, before scratching him under the chin.

"I think he's hungry," she says. "Want to help me feed him?"

"Um. No, thank you," Adora says.

"Suit yourself. So, want to tell me what brings you here? I didn't realize you were in the academy yet." As she talks, she shakes some dark biscuits from an unlabeled jar under her desk, and lets Stanley greedily gobble them from her palm.

"Oh, you're right. I'm not in the academy yet. I'm sorry for bothering you before I'm a student, but Shadow Weaver said you were the person to go to about maps," Adora says hesitantly.

"Well, she's right about that," Professor Darking says. "You've come to the Horde's resident map expert."

"I was studying the young cadet's textbook, and I was wondering if you had any other maps of the Rebellion's territory that I could look at. The maps in the textbook are printed kind of small, and it was hard for me to tell how big the territory really was. Compared to the Fright Zone, I mean."

"Hm. Yes, I think I can help you out." Dusting her hands off, she begins rifling through the maps on her desk and muttering to herself. "Not this one...not this one either."

Adora slips her fingers under her legs to keep herself from fidgeting nervously as she waits. Stanley hasn't stopped looking at her, and he hasn't blinked once.

"The Rebellion's territory is actually quite large, you know," Professor Darking says while she continues to sift through the piles. "I think they print those maps in the textbook small on purpose, to give more of an inflated sense of the Horde's gains."

"Inflated?" Adora asks.

"Yeah, you know. Making it look bigger than it is in reality. The Rebellion still has quite a stronghold on the planet, much as the academy tries to hide it from our cadets. Apparently knowing thine enemy diminishes morale," Professor Darking says, an amused note in her voice.

"I thought--I thought the Rebellion was almost defeated," Adora says uneasily.

"Mmm, yes. That is the party line," Professor Darking responds with a nod. "But you're smart to notice something off about the maps in the textbook, and come hunting for a second opinion. Respectable cartographers don't try to hide the truth. Maps shouldn't lie to you."

Adora bites her lip. Questions want to stutter off the tip of her tongue, but she holds them in. Professor Darking thinks she's smart, and she's not going to ruin that by asking a bunch of stupid questions which have answers she should already know.

"Here you go! This map was created by my predecessor, and it gives a good breakdown of the different areas within the Rebellion's control, whereas this one is more recent and done by my own hand. It expoits recent technology advances to provide a detailed look at the topographical terrain." Professor Darking seems to speak quickly by default, and the words rush past Adora without really landing. She catches the rolled up maps reflexively when Professor Darking hands them to her, and stands there for a moment, just holding the maps like a statue.

"You can unroll them, you know," the professor says with a smile. "That way you can ask about anything that's not clear on the maps. It takes time to learn how to read a map correctly and decipher the legend. At your age, I'm impressed that you're even looking into maps at all."

"You don't mind?" Adora asks, but she's already unrolling the maps one after another, spreading them out over her lap and the couch. They're beautiful, delicate etchings of rivers and mountains, and color-coded sections corresponding to Horde and Rebellion territory. For a second, she just stares. They look nothing like the cramped, fuzzy copies in the young cadets textbook. She wants to trace over the lines, but she's worried she'll get smudges on the maps. "These are really pretty," she says.

"No need to butter me up, but points for effort," Professor Darking says.

Adora blushes red-hot, but she forges ahead. It's rare for anybody in the Horde to actually open themselves up to questioning, so she wants to take advantage of it before the professor changes her mind.

"Why are there these lines on the older map, that are gone on the newer map? They don't look like rivers, and even if they were, they wouldn't have just dried up like that," Adora says.

"Good observation," Professor Darking says, and Adora can't help herself from directing a small, secret smile to the map in her lap. "They're definitely not rivers. They actually demarcate the different kingdoms that make up the Rebellion. The lines are gone on the newer map, my map, in line with Lord Hordak's explicit command." She purses her lips, and Adora would almost think she looks annoyed, at Lord Hordak, but that can't possibly be right.

"I don't--why does--if--"

"Take a deep breath and try again," Professor Darking says, but she doesn't look frustrated. Just calm and waiting. So Adora forcibly cuts off the panic that was threatening to overwhelm her brain, and takes a deep breath. It really does help her think better, and she begins again.

"I didn't know that the Rebellion had different kingdoms! I thought it was all just--one group of people, with princesses, that hated us. Why would they be working together against the Horde? Why don't they join us instead?"

"There are many motives that drive the Rebellion," says Professor Darking. She is speaking much more slowly now, like she needs to think about each word before she says it aloud. "So even though it's made up of several groups of people, they each have their reasons to oppose the Horde. It's...very complicated. Which is part of why Lord Hordak ordered me to remove the kingdom boundaries from the newer version of the map. To make it at least appear less so."

"But what reasons would they have to oppose the Horde?" Adora asks.

Professor Darking pauses for a long time. So long that Stanley hoots for attention, and she feeds him another handful of treats before responding. "Can you think of any reasons, Adora?" she finally says.

Adora stares at her. That most definitely sounds like a trap. Slowly, decisively, she shakes her head hard.

Professor Darking sighs. "There are two sides to every story. You're young still, and I don't expect you to understand that just yet. But when you get a little older, you might be able to answer that question for yourself."

Adora frowns down at her hands, because her young age doesn't mean that she's an idiot. It sounds like the professor is just trying to dodge the question. But she doesn't say anything. She just starts to roll up the maps, carefully, making sure the edges are even.

"When I saw you at my door, I actually thought you were here for a different reason," Professor Darking says while Adora rolls the maps up. "I thought you might be here to lodge some kind of complaint."

Adora nearly drops one of the maps on her foot. "Complaint? What--why would I do that? I'm not the kind of soldier to cause trouble."

"You're not a soldier yet, Adora."

Adora flinches back, feeling like she's been slapped.

"I mean--you're just a child," Professor Darking says, and Adora stiffens up even further. 

"Sorry, let me start over." Professor Darking rakes a hand through her disheveled hair, scrunching up her face. "Yes, it's abundantly clear to me that you don't like to make waves, but I'm also not blind. I see the way the other cadets treat you. And that new girl, with the ears. Kids can be cruel to one another, and I was thinking maybe you didn't feel comfortable going to Shadow Weaver about it. I know how she can be about weakness."

"I can take care of myself!" Adora snaps. A distant part of Adora can hear how heated her tone sounds, and she knows that she's just asking for black mark or even alloted time in the punishment room, but at this moment, she's too fired up to care. "And Shadow Weaver is helping me become stronger!"

Professor Darking doesn't say anything, just watches her with unreadable eyes. Against her lack of response, Adora feels compelled to keep talking, keep explaining. "The cadets will respect me after I get big enough, and--and good enough. Shadow Weaver took a chance on me. She decided to take me in even though I was a nameless orphan and no one knew if I would amount to anything. She's the reason I'm here. Otherwise I wouldn't even have a home!"

Adora has to back up when Professor Darking advances several steps, a strange expression on her face. She reaches out a hand, but it falls back to her side when Adora twitches back, instinctively.

"For the love of Etheria," she mutters under her breath. "Who told you that you were nameless?"

"Why?" Adora asks, suspiciously.

"Shadow Weaver knew very well who your parents were. That's why she took you," Professor Darking says. "In, I mean. Took you in."

Her heart is hammering hard, and Adora takes a few more steps back, until she's almost in the narrow corridor to the door. "That--no. I don't understand. That doesn't--that doesn't make any sense."

"Yeah. I guess it probably wouldn't," Professor Darking says nonsensically.

"I have to go," Adora says. She's groping around behind her for the doorknob, and even though Professor Darking isn't showing any signs of trying to pursue her, she still feels like she needs to get out of the room as soon as possible. Pressure is building in her chest, and she feels like she can't breathe.

"All right," the professor says quietly. "Please bring back the maps when you're done studying them."

"Yes, Professor," Adora says, more out of habit than anything, and then she's finally out the door, walking away as fast as she can without breaking into a run. The maps are clutched in her right hand, so hard that she's crumpling them a little bit, and she quickly loosens her grip. It's harder than it should be for her to unclench the muscles.

Probably because she was just really rude to a Horde teacher, who might order a black mark without telling her, and then she'll find out about it when Shadow Weaver does, which would really be unpleasant. Speed-walking down the hall, Adora takes several deep breaths, trying to loosen the pressure in her chest. Her feet take her back in the direction of her room, unconsciously, but it's a good instinct. She'll be able to drop the maps off and grab the textbook and keep studying. She doesn't want to look at the maps right now.

Even as Adora relaxes, with the calming weight of a plan in place, other thoughts begin to crowd in. Professor Darking's words echo around in her head, but no matter how much she turns them over, she can't make any sense of them. It's just not possible that Shadow Weaver knew her parents. If she did, she would have told Adora. Instead, she explicitly told Adora that she was nameless and unwanted, that no family was willing to claim her. So she stepped in and fostered Adora out of charity. It's what Adora's been told all her life, and it makes sense. It's why she doesn't have any family, and why the other cadets look down on her. It's why Shadow Weaver needs her to be the best, so that raising her wouldn't have been a waste.

Besides: between Shadow Weaver and Professor Darking, there's only one person Adora knows she can trust.

As she approaches her room, Adora's ears pick up a faint hissing, jolting her out of her thoughts. She knows that hissing. But there's no reason for Catra to be in their room at this hour, unless the Honorable Hordin let her go early. Either way, something's not right. Adora quickens her pace even more until she's jogging, and then running. The closer she gets to the room, the more she can hear--scuffling, snarling, a low angry tone that Adora's worried she recognizes.

When she reaches the door, she hesitates for barely a second before wrenching it open. The maps fall from her fingers as she registers several things all at once.

First, the room is a mess. Someone has clawed up the bedding and even scratched up the walls, leaving long trails of peeling paint. Second, the lights above are flickering in a distorted, dreadful pattern, casting the room into sharp relief before letting bloated shadows engulf the occupants, and leaving spots blooming across Adora's vision as she squints into the room.

Third, Shadow Weaver has pinned a hissing, spitting Catra to the wall by her throat. One of her thin gray hands is wrapped around Catra's neck as she stares Catra down, her head barely inches away Catra's snarling face. Her other hand is hovering just above Catra's cheek, and at first glance it looks almost like it's on fire, glowing red like embers.

"No!" Adora calls out, the sound ripped from her throat before she pauses to properly catalogue the situation.

When Shadow Weaver turns around, the movement slow and menacing, her hand still clenched around Catra's throat, Adora shudders all over but refuses to let herself shrink back.

"Do you dare to interfere?" Shadow Weaver asks, and Adora recognizes that voice; it's low and calm but absolutely terrifying, the tone that Shadow Weaver uses when the edges of her temper have frayed past the point of return.

Adora has to clear her throat before she can talk, but she forces herself to maintain eye contact with Shadow Weaver. If Shadow Weaver is looking at her, she won't be able to tear her way through Catra's mind. In Adora's experience, something about Shadow Weaver's powers requires Shadow Weaver to be looking directly at the person to be disciplined.

"You put me in charge of her development," Adora says. Her skin feels hot and tight, and her gut is churning, like she's about to throw up. "That means I'm overseeing her training, which includes--includes discipline, right? I think that means I should at least know what's going on?"

Despite Adora's best efforts, she can't stop her tone from wavering, turning her words into hesitant questions instead of confident statements. But it works nonetheless; Shadow Weaver lowers Catra until her feet are at least brushing the ground, and she turns her full attention to Adora.

"Someone's ego has grown rather too large for her uniform. Do you somehow imagine that the delegation of minimal responsibility has raised your status so far as to supercede my authority?"

Adora swallows, tasting the bile at the back of her throat. "N-no. Of course not! You are my--my mentor, Shadow Weaver, and I do respect your authority."

"As to be expected. Then--"

Forcing the nausea back, Adora interrupts, talking over not only Shadow Weaver but also the furious beating of her own heart, which is pounding so loudly that it must be audible to everyone in the room: "But if I'm going to be overseeing her training, I need to at least know why she's being disciplined. So I can help guide her development in a way that she doesn't re-offend."

Shadow Weaver stares at her silently, but the shadows around her are warping and elongating, their twisting movements clear even in the flickering of the overhead lights. Adora's not sure if she's ever seen Shadow Weaver so angry.

"Please, Shadow Weaver," Adora attempts. "She doesn't--she doesn't understand, a lot of things, just yet. If you tell me what happened, I can try to explain it to her in a way that she'll understand and remember." And then, out of desperation, "I'm sorry. I'm just trying to help. Please," Adora begs.

After another horrifying long, silent moment, Shadow Weaver responds. "I suppose your initiative and sense of responsibility is to be commended. This is your first mission, after all."

She says everything through gritted teeth, but Adora nods frantically, trying to maintain the fragile holding pattern despite the threat of violence seething underneath.

Shadow Weaver says, every word clipped and brusque, "The Honorable Hordin had no choice but to summon me, away from my highly important duties, when the animal refused to cooperate. It is common practice to give every Horde asset a designation, but even this simplest of procedures resulted in a savage, animalistic rage. Completely intractable, with inability to receive or even comprehend attempts to reason with it. I've always considered Hordin as prone to exaggeration in his old age, but it seems that his evaluation of this beast has been prescient. If it cannot accept a Horde designation, then there is no place for it in the Horde at all."

"Designation?" Adora says, stiltedly. It's the only thing she can manage to say because she doesn't know to process or even begin to respond to anything else that Shadow Weaver has just said.

"N3477 is to be her asset designation."

"Catra!" Catra scrapes out unexpectedly, her first outburst since falling silent at Adora's entrance. From several feet away, Adora can see Shadow Weaver's hand tighten until Catra chokes.

And then Adora suddenly understands. "A name! You're giving her a designation so that she has a name. But she--"

"Assets do not have names," Shadow Weaver sneers. "They have serial numbers so that we can monitor and deploy them as needed. Names are privileges to be earned after a demonstration that one is capable of rational thought and human speech."

"Oh--yes, but she has a--"

"And after a several week-long trial period, the animal has been unable to produce such proof. So it will be given an asset designation, Adora. Your distress is inappropriate. All of this is standard operating protocol."

"I do have proof!" Adora bursts out. "It's all in my mission notes--let me just grab my log--" Desperately, Adora runs to the rumpled, torn up bed and begins tossing aside the shreds of bedding and other random belongings. It feels like several minutes have gone by until she manages to unearth the thick notebook, but it can't have been more than seconds, because Shadow Weaver hasn't started screaming, and she holds up the log triumphantly. "I have logged all her progress, because I was preparing to report on it to you. I can read you my notes--she's been improving even day by day, she's an incredibly quick learner--"

"Read out the past week's notes," Shadow Weaver orders.

"Learned several more vocabulary words and beginning to form simple sentences. Understands more complex commands and able to execute them after explanation, although obedience is inconsistent," Adora reads out, trying to rush past the last bit. "Reflex speed is above standard and stamina is improving rapidly on the training course." She raises her head up from the log to throw Shadow Weaver a pleading look. "She's doing really well! And--and I think the reason she reacted badly to the asset designation is because she already has a name."

"Already has a name," Shadow Weaver repeats slowly.

"Yes! We--we came up with it together. Her name is Catra, and she already responds to it and knows it. Replacing it with an asset designation would be--would be--inefficient," Adora improvises wildly.

"Catra," Shadow Weaver says. And then, astonishingly, alarmingly, she begins to chuckle. "So that's what the little beast has been yowling at me. I thought it was simply spewing rabid nonsense. It's a suitable name for a cat, I must say."

"Yes," Adora says immediately, more out of relief than actual agreement.

"Very well. If the beast already responds to Catra, it would be inefficient to condition it into responding to another designation. If your notes are accurate," Shadow Weaver says, narrowing her eyes at Adora. "If they are accurate, then the name is acceptable. Perhaps...Catra...has more potential than previously expected. I will relay my decision to the Honorable Hordin."

"I understand, Shadow Weaver. Thank you. I promise, I take detailed notes everyday to make sure that I don't forget anything or get something wrong," Adora says in a rush. The relief coursing through her veins is making her almost lightheaded, and she reaches a hand back to the door frame behind her to steady herself.

"Good. Now, Catra, I must make one thing clear," Shadow Weaver says as she turns back to face Catra. Adora clenches her hands to her sides, renewed adrenaline making her tense up again. "You must bow down to authority if you are to survive in the Horde. Resorting to violent tantrums only marks you as the beast you are. And beasts we cannot control, we dispose of. Understood?"

Without waiting for a response, she brings up her other hand, limned once more in bloodred light, and rests it lovingly on Catra's cheek. Adora flinches back almost as violently as Catra does, but unlike Adora, Catra has nowhere to go and her head smashes against the wall as she screams out. The sound echoes around the confines of the small room, and the sound of it triggers an instant piercing ache in Adora's head. The scream seems to go on forever, making Adora's breath catch in her throat and her lungs refuse to inflate, until Shadow Weaver casually lifts her hand back up.

As one, Adora and Catra gasp for breath. When Shadow Weaver releases her grap on Catra's throat, the girl slides to the floor and retches. Shadow Weaver advances toward Adora seemingly without noticing Catra on the ground, and Adora looks up at Shadow Weaver, dread and experience rooting her to the spot. It is always better to stay and take it then run and receive the same punishment, doubled for the delay.

"You should be more careful, Adora," Shadow Weaver says.

It doesn't matter what Shadow Weaver means, Adora knows what the right answer is.

"Yes, Shadow Weaver," she says.

"I gave the beast to you as a chance to demonstrate not only your ability to handle responsibility, but also your renewed commitment to the Horde. What is Lord Hordak's third precept?"

"Loyalty to the Horde above all material attachments," Adora says, happy to know exactly how to respond.

"Do not allow distractions to split your loyalty and focus to the cause. It would be a pity if you gave up an enviable position as my ward for the sake of a mangy stray, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, Shadow Weaver," Adora whispers, gaze dropping to the floor.

"And one more thing, Adora," Shadow Weaver says, and waits for Adora to look back up at her before continuing. "Never contradict me again."

She pulls back her hand and slaps Adora's face with full force, nonchalantly, telegraphing her movements because she knows Adora won't dare try to dodge. The blow snaps Adora's face to the side, and she lets out a soft grunt despite her attempt to stay silent. The point of contact on Adora's cheek burns with a painful, stinging intensity, hot angry heat radiating outward. Blood is pooling in Adora's mouth.

Shadow Weaver walks out of the room and lets the door swing shut behind her.

*     *     *

Adora isn't sure how much time passes until Catra makes her way over to her, crawling on her hands and feet with hesitant, hurt movements. There is a buzzing thick in Adora's ears, and she can't hold a single thought in her mind for long, just half-formed sensations and aches. At some point, she sank to the ground, legs splayed out in front of her messily. She feels all of a sudden too exhausted even to keep proper form, and she lets her shoulders curl inward like they so badly want to do, making herself smaller and less noticeable even though Shadow Weaver has already left.

When Catra is directly in front of Adora, Catra sits back on her haunches and stays like that, in an awkward squat. Adora glances up once, meets her eyes only briefly before she has to look away again. Her blue and yellow eyes look unhappy, pained. Accusing.

"I'm sorry," Adora says, too loud over the buzzing in her ears. "Catra, I'm sorry. This is my fault."

She hears Catra snort across from her, and she says, forcefully, "I mean it. I'm so sorry. I never should have--I never should have given you a name without asking Shadow Weaver first. It was stupid, and cocky, and I knew better."

Catra growls, so low Adora can barely hear her, "Stupid."

"Yes," Adora breathes out. She meets Catra's eyes again and holds them for several seconds. "It would have been better if I never gave you a name. That way, when the Honorable Hordin tried to give you your asset designation today, you wouldn't have gotten confused. Everything would have been fine."

"Stupid," Catra says louder.

"Yes, that's what I'm saying," Adora says, pleads, "I'm sorry. It was--I made a bad plan, and you got hurt because of it."

"Stupid!" Catra shouts, the sound so sudden and shrill that Adora shrinks back from Catra. Catra stares at her a moment, nostrils flaring, then says, slowly, "'Dora hurt. Hordin...stupid. Shadow Weaver...stupid."

"They're just following protocol," Adora says. "I know you haven't learned all the rules yet. I'll teach you. You'll see. It'll be less confusing...once you know all the rules."

"'Dora stupid too," Catra says, but she looks less angry. Defeated, almost. "'Dora talk too much."

"I know," Adora says. "It was stupid, trying to pull Shadow Weaver's attention away when she was so angry. I know better than to defy her wishes. But...she was going to hurt you. And you're my friend," Adora says quietly, the truth of it unfolding in her chest as she says the words aloud. "I didn't want you to suffer because you were my friend, especially because I had made some stupid decisions."

"Stupid," Catra repeats, quieter. They stay like that for several minutes, sitting in silence, until Adora reaches into her pocket.

"I still have a ration bar from breakfast," she says, and holds it out like a peace offering. "Do you want it?" She tries to smile, but she's pretty sure it comes out lopsided; the left side of her face already feels like it's swelling up.

Catra heaves out a sigh, but she grabs it from Adora's hand and bites into it quickly, heedless of the wrapper. Every few seconds, she spits out pieces of the plastic wrapping to the side. Adora watches her and very consciously decides not to say anything about it. In less than five minutes, she's finished devouring the bar, and she gives a little happy burp of satisfaction. At the familiar sound, Adora grins at her for real, even though it pulls at her hurt cheek.

"Good friend," Catra says, and just like that, the remaining vice grip of anxiety in Adora's chest loosens, and Adora feels like she can really take a full breath again.

"Good friend," Catra repeats, drawing it out into a croon, and she reaches out to grab Adora's shoulder and pull her down, headfirst, until Adora's face is mashed into Catra's lap. Adora goes with a lot of confusion but no resistance, until Catra takes her ponytail out and starts combing her clawed fingers through Adora's hair.

"Oh," Adora says quietly into Catra's thigh. Catra is mimicking all the times that Adora's done the same for her. To make Adora feel better.

The tips of Catra's claws scritch gently into Adora's scalp, and she relaxes even further. For some reason, now that the anxiety and adrenaline are fading, Adora can feel other emotions intruding. Unbidden, tears begin to prick at the corners of her eyes. It's ridiculous--she's safe now, they're alone, and neither she nor Catra are badly injured. Things could have been so much worse. But the tears keep coming, and she turns her face deeper into Catra's pant leg, pressing the wet warmth into scratchy cloth.

"Shhhh," Catra says, sing-song. "Good friend...very good friend..."

"You're a good friend, too," Adora murmurs scratchily.

"Yes," Catra says, smile audible in her voice.

Twisting her head back so that she can see Catra's smile, Adora blinks blurrily up at Catra's face. Catra keeps moving her hand up and down Adora's head, maintaining the soothing rhythm. There's a small dark mark on Catra's thin wrist, and Adora reaches out to press her thumb to it, curious, then immediately releases the pressure when Catra emits a soft, pained growl.

In the next minute, Adora is sitting back up, cradling Catra's wrist in her hands. Catra's uniform sleeves are in tatters, from what Adora assumed were her struggles with Shadow Weaver and Hordin, but as she pieces two ragged edges of the uniform sleeve together, the pattern becomes clear.

N3477 has been burned on the fabric, at a drunken, skewed angle, part of the N running off the fabric. Exactly what would happen if someone had been trying to brand a struggling, flailing child. The sharp upper corner of the N is burned indelibly into Catra's skin, and Adora can see shiny blisters forming around the wound, now that she's looking more closely.

"Your asset designation," Adora chokes out, finally understanding the deeper implications of the term. "They wanted to--wanted to brand you."

"Too fast," Catra says, a tired smirk playing around her mouth. "Hordin old. Slow. Stupid."

"But...why?" Adora asks, her mind trying and failing to come up with a reasonable justification, chasing around its tail like a machine in a glitching, closed-loop function. "Why?"

Catra closes her eyes for one moment, two, and turns her wrist back over so that the mark is no longer in sight. Then, with effort, she says slowly, "N3477 is...property. Horde property."

Adora's breath catches in her throat, and she grabs at Catra's hand, convulsively, squeezing it so tightly that it must be painful. But the girl doesn't protest. She just squeezes back, even harder than Adora.

"You're not property," Adora says fiercely. "Catra is not property. Whoever says that...is wrong. Okay?"

Catra looks at her, solemn, all traces of her smirk gone.

"'Dora not property neither."

Chapter Text

Catra falls into a deep, exhausted sleep almost instantaneously after they get into bed. Adora, who expected to have to spend at least half an hour lying still and pretending to be asleep, gapes at her. But maybe she shouldn't be surprised. Adora can't even imagine the kind of day Catra's had, and that was before they spent several hours changing the bedding and cleaning the smashed items. By the time they were done, the room was more or less back to normal, except for the gouges in the wall. It's at least safe to sleep and walk around in again, which was Adora's main goal.

And now, looking at Catra's freckled nose flare with every light snore, what Adora really wants is to lie down next to her and slide as easily into sleep, let this nightmare of a day just fade away into memory.

But she can't. Adora hasn't had a lot of responsibility in her life. Mostly, she was the responsibility, the added burden on top of Shadow Weaver's already substantial duties. Catra is the first time that Adora's actually responsible for someone other than her, where Adora's actions can and will have consequences for someone else. Adora didn't fully understand that in the beginning, which was stupid and short-sighted of her, but then again, she hasn't had a lot of experience.

Now she knows better. Her misstep could have sent Catra to the infirmary. If Adora wants to protect Catra, she needs to get a lot more proactive not only with how she's treating Catra, but also with how she's been coordinating Catra's training with other people. In any case, this will be good practice for when she's the youngest Force Captain in history. Every good captain needs to be at least three steps ahead of the enemy, and the only way to do that is understand the possible outcomes for every step of a battle plan.

This is easier. Catra is just one person, not an entire squadron, and there are way fewer factors in play than on a battlefield. So it's pretty clear to Adora what the first step she needs to take is.

When she eases out of bed, Catra doesn't stir one bit. She didn't even notice that Adora was still in her uniform when they were getting ready for bed, so all Adora has to do is quietly slide her feet into her boots and lace them up. Using the weight distribution tricks that Catra's been teaching her, Adora pads silently over to the door, and then she cracks it open before holding her breath, waiting. A sliver of light shines into the room, illuminating the bottom of the bed, but Catra keeps snoring on.

The only very minor, so small as to almost be nonexistent, problem with Adora's plan is that she doesn't have the first idea about where to find the Honorable Hordin at this time of night. It's not too late yet, but there's no way he'll still be in the classroom. If Adora wants to find him and talk to him, without Catra knowing, she'll need to track the Honorable Hordin to his personal quarters.

And Adora might be shorter than the older cadets, slower and weaker than them, but her observational skills are top-notch. They have to be, to compensate. So even though she doesn't even know what wing of the Fright Zone the Honorable Hordin lives, she can follow the light scuff marks that lead away from his classroom. He has a noticeable limp, and Adora saw a cane leaning against the wall each time she dropped Catra off for her sessions. The scuff marks are small streaks with rounded tops, too small to come from Horde-issued boots. They are almost definitely made by the bottom of a cane.

So all Adora has to do is follow the scuff marks--it's almost as good as having a lighted path to her destination. The Honorable Hordin's room is farther than she expected. It's not near any of the higher command staff, or even the other academy teachers. Instead, the room is tucked away in a small, dusty corridor that looks like it doesn't get a lot of foot traffic. Many of the doors in the hallway are slightly ajar, and when Adora pushes on them slightly out of curiosity, they reveal empty rooms.

The scuff marks end, unmistakably, at a single door in the middle of the corridor. Without conscious command, her footsteps slow as she nears the door, and even though she's taking care to walk quietly, the steps create echoes in the dead silence of the hallway.

Adora takes a moment to take a deep breath and prepare herself before she raises her hand and knocks, loudly, on the door. She has to knock twice more before the door finally creaks open. Infuriatingly, he looks straight ahead, and then up, before realizing that she's standing there two feet under his sightline.

"Good evening, Honorable Hordin," Adora begins before he can get a word out, although he's twisting his mouth in a very unpleasant way that suggests he was about to say something rude. "I've come about Catra." At his blank look, she adds, "A-about the girl you've been tutoring."

When he continues to stay silent, Adora feels compelled to say, "My name is Adora. I'm Shadow Weaver's ward, and I've been looking after Ca--"

"Yes yes yes," the Honorable Hordin says impatiently, "I know all of that. I'm old, not blind, nor senile. What I am trying to understand is the magnitude of your presumption in coming to ambush me in my place of rest. Do you imagine that, as Shadow Weaver's ward, you have some pretension to rank? To power? You are a ward of the state, and not one of our more impressive ones, at that."

"I didn't mean to ambush you," Adora says, desperately trying to get a word in. "I just wanted a private word with you before tomorrow morning, when Catra has to come back for classes."

"Children these days are as disrespectful as they are repugnant," the Honorable Hordin mutters, seemingly deaf to Adora's words. "Small, squirrelly, showing up at all hours and impossible to squash. Like cockroaches."

Adora stares down at herself. She's not precisely sure what a cockroach is, but she thinks it's more than likely it's not a flattering comparison.

"My apologies," Adora tries again. "Honorable Hordin, I just came to--to benefit from your, um, old age. And experience."

The old man pauses, finally, in his monologue, but he continues to eye her suspiciously. "Very well," he says. "What is your question?"

Adora bites her lip, trying to figure out how best to start. "When Catra came home today, she seemed very upset. I thought maybe...we could talk about why. Shadow Weaver's put me in charge of her development, so I am hoping--to learn from you--how we can best support her."

As Adora talks, the many folds in the Honorable Hordin's face grow deeper and seem to multiply, creating a mess of crevasses and valleys in his bone-white skin.

"You are speaking of N3477. That is her designation, and your first mistake. Beasts like N3477, especially when they are young, may manipulate a tender heart into seeing things that are simply not there. It is dangerous to attribute traits like human intelligence to beasts, or give them greater freedoms that will inevitably need to be taken away later. I know this may be difficult for you to understand, Adora, but it is much kinder and wiser to keep them on a short leash from the very beginning." Saying this, he reaches out one gnarled hand to Adora's shoulder, but she scoots out of his reach, reflexively.

"Catra isn't a beast," Adora says. She doesn't like the sound of what the Honorable Hordin is saying, but she doesn't have the time or knowledge to fight back against the rest of it. The most important point is that Catra isn't a beast, so all the awful things he's saying don't apply to her.

The Honorable Hordin's red eyes seem to get brighter with anger before he takes a deep breath and attempts to smile. "N3477 is a savage, uncontrollable animal. You need only look at what she did to my arm in the middle of an entirely routine asset tracking procedure," he says, and holds up his left arm in triumph. Four deep gashes have been scored across the flesh, scabbed over now, but still swollen an angry red around the scratches.

"She did that because she was scared!" Adora says hotly. "You were trying to burn a number into her skin! And if--if you tried to do that to me, I think I would react the exact same way," Adora adds in a moment of wild, furious courage.

"The Horde would never dream of branding young cadets," the Honorable Hordin says dismissively. "We have much better ways of keeping track of our cadets. But beasts cannot be trusted to reliably hold on to badges or tags. If we did not brand them, we would have no way of identifying and monitoring them. Chaos would reign. And order--"

"Must be maintained at all times, yes," Adora finishes. "Fine, okay. But Catra isn't a beast! I don't know why you keep calling her that. She's really smart and she likes learning. She understands what I say, and her vocabulary is also expanding. Because of your teaching," Adora tacks on desperately. "You've been really successful in teaching her language skills."

There's a long pause, and Adora shifts from one foot to the other agitatedly while the Honorable Hordin regards her.

"Kids your age must be forgiven for their active imaginations," he finally says, randomly. "Of course, that does beg the question of why Shadow Weaver delegated the responsibility of N3477's care to you, a prepubescent try-hard with no experience to speak of. The beast has yet to form a single coherent word in any of our lessons together, and I would have the qualifications to know."

"She talks to me," Adora says stubbornly.

"I'm sure you think she does," the Honorable Hordin replies, smiling at her. "You seem like a diligent child. You want so badly for this first mission of yours to end in success, do you not?"

All Adora can do is gape at him in outrage. "I'm not--making things up--"

"I can see emotions are running high. Very natural, of course, for someone of your age."

"My age--!"

"Very well. I will give you and N3477 tomorrow off, to reflect on the wisdom I have imparted on you this evening." He draws his sleeve back down to cover the gashes. "And to give myself more time to recover from the brutal attack, of course. Do impart to your...charge that this kind of violence is unacceptable. And who knows? If it spends less time crazed by bloodlust and blind savagery, perhaps it will be able to demonstrate some learning after all."

With extreme force of will, Adora forces down her first, second, and third responses. "Thank you, Honorable Hordin," she says instead, and even smiles at him. "That's very generous."

"Yes, it is," the Honorable Hordin says. And then he closes the door in Adora's face.

*     *     *

The path Adora takes back to her room is long and circuitous. At this time of day, the complex looks deserted. Everyone is back in their own rooms, settling down for the night. Adora walks in almost a daze, passing recognizable landmarks without registering them, and absent-mindedly trailing her fingers along the walls as she meanders past. As she gets closer to the main areas of the complex, the corridors become more familiar and comforting. She's walked these halls at least a hundred times, maybe a hundred thousand, and every corner is imprinted on her heart. If someone put a blindfold on her, she would probably still be able to find her way home, even if she bumped into a few things along the way.

But Catra has only been at the Fright Zone for a few weeks. It feels to Adora, sometimes, like she's always been there, hogging all of Adora's blankets, leaving hair all over her uniforms, stealing stealthy fingers into her pockets in search of food. In the past few weeks, Catra's carved out a space in Adora's life so deep and true that she feels necessary, feels mundane in the way these walls and nooks and crannies are facts of Adora's everyday experience. It takes Adora a minute to even picture what her life was like before Catra ran into Adora like an unstoppable force. She was lonely--and Adora can only recognize that, now, because the ever-present aching hole in her heart has been plugged up. It's a muted but sweet relief, like when a bone is set back into place, or one more ration bar puts her over the edge from adequate to full.

In spite of all of that, in real time Catra has only been in the Fright Zone for less than a month. Hardly enough time for her to learn her way around, let alone understand how the Horde works. It's not home to Catra, the way it is for Adora. And that's okay, mostly. They'll have time for her to really settle in and claim the Horde as an identity for herself.

But this asset designation mess is more time-sensitive. Adora didn't piece it together before, but of course it makes sense that Catra isn't cooperating in the Honorable Hordin's lessons. It's clear, even to someone like Adora, that Catra may have a problem with authority. The way she reacts to Shadow Weaver is all hissing and barely leashed rage. She refuses to talk to her, letting Adora convey Catra's progress through notes instead of demonstrating it for herself.

It's understandable, of course. Adora doesn't understand very much about where Catra came from and what her life was like before it became so caught up in Adora's. But she probably had more freedom in the wild than she does in the Fright Zone. Needing a period of adjustment, at least to Adora, seems totally reasonable.

Shadow Weaver and the Honorable Hordin, however, aren't as likely to see it that way. So she'll have to help Catra adjust a little bit faster. Understand what the stakes are. If Catra's in danger of being branded as an asset just because she refuses to talk to the Honorable Hordin, Adora needs to explain to her, very clearly and as many times as necessary, why she needs to start showing more respect and obedience.

It's the only way to keep Catra safe.

Even as that thought crosses Adora's mind, she spots a red glow emanating from under a very familiar door. The door to the punishment room is made of polished steel, almost completely sound-proofed and so heavy it is difficult to push open. Usually the door slides shut on its own because of the weight, but Adora can see that it's been left slightly ajar, enough to leak the poisonous red light into the hallway.

The rational part of Adora's brain knows that she left Catra sleeping soundly in the room, as safe as she could make her against potential punishments. It's the whole reason she went to see Hordin by herself (that, and so the encounter would be as calm and blood-free as possible). But every other part of Adora's mind is jumping to wild, panicked conclusions. It's not completely impossible that Shadow Weaver would have returned to their rooms at night and attempted to test Catra's supposed language improvements for herself.

And when Catra would inevitably have resisted, Shadow Weaver would no doubt have flown into a rage, doubly intense because it was deferred earlier in the day. If Shadow Weaver has Catra inside the punishment room now, she might not stop until Catra was...was...

Shaking with fear, Adora kneels down by the door and fits her eye to the small opening. Her chest has gone tight again, even worse than before, and for some reason she can't breathe right. There are spots dancing over her vision, so for a moment, Adora can't fully see what's going on in the room.

But the room is quiet, no shouts or screams, and Adora relaxes minutely. Even after the spots subside, it's hard for Adora to make out the room's contents. There's a strange, blinding red light coming from the center of the room, at once bright but murky, like its color has been polluted with sludge and shadow.

After a few moments, Adora realizes that the light isn't a light at all. Or it is, but it's coming from a giant stone, many times taller than Adora. Adora squints in confusion. Next to the rock is a small figure, with its arms outreached.

It's Shadow Weaver.

Adora almost calls out to her, to ask what she's trying to do, but something stills her tongue. There's a strange sensation of wrongness about the entire scene, an ominous feeling thick in the air, like lightning in a thunderstorm.

"Come," Shadow Weaver says, and Adora jolts back, heart pounding. But Shadow Weaver doesn't even turn to the door; she keeps her eyes fixed on the glowing rock, intent and hungry. "Reveal yourself to me," Shadow Weaver croons.

A faint crackle ripples through the air, so faint that Adora's ears strain to pick it up, but her hair stands up on the back of her neck nevertheless. The crackling grows louder and louder, and the light in the stone begins to pulsate, grotesquely, bulging out here and there like it's mutating into something new but wrong, all wrong.

All at once, the light is sucked into the center of the jewel, concentrating and building in on itself, just as the sound crescendos to a high-pitched whine. The whine is still quiet, comparatively, but the pitch is grating, creating shooting pains in Adora's skull. Suddenly, just when the ball of light in the center of the jewel seems like it can't possibly get any brighter, it erupts, spurting out into a supernova of red, angry light.

Shadow Weaver is cackling at first, a throaty wild laugh that makes Adora shrink back, but the bloodred supernova spreads out over the room, engulfs Shadow Weaver, too, and the laugh changes mid-breath into a scream.

As the corrosive red light spills out through the ajar door, Adora stumbles away blindly, hand shielding her eyes, and she half-runs, half-staggers down the hall. Shadow Weaver's scream follows her, but it doesn't sound fearful. The scream is pained, agonized, and at the same time perversely triumphant.

As Adora manages to coordinate her legs into a full-out run, she can hear an echo of Shadow Weaver behind her, ecstatically chanting, "Yes, yes, yes!" over and over again.

The echo is still ringing in Adora's ears when she barrels into her room and slams the door shut.

The room is dark and quiet, with Catra a small bump in the middle of the bed. As Adora watches, Catra rolls over, smacks her lips, and then farts, loudly, at the same time she lets out a snore. Adora blows out a long, shaky breath, before she makes her way over.

Catra doesn't wake up even when Adora tucks herself close, dragging one of Catra's thin arms over Adora's middle. She hides her face in Catra's neck, where the pulse of Catra's heartbeat gradually drowns out all the other sounds.

*     *     *

Adora wakes, gradually, to a wet, scratchy tongue on her cheek. She groans and bats Catra away feebly, but since she doesn't open her eyes to do it, the action is less than effective.

"'Dora sleepy!" Catra says from much too close to Adora's ear, sounding delighted.

"Late night," Adora mutters. "Very late...confusing...night."

Now, in the light of day and being determinedly licked by Catra, the events of last night feel very far away. For a moment, she wonders if maybe she just had a very realistic nightmare.

Adora squints one eye open, to see Catra's blue eye staring at her from inches away, taking up most of her field of vision. "Urk!" Adora yelps, while Catra snickers.

"I can't believe you woke up before me," Adora says. She shoves Catra off and sits up in bed, knuckling away a large yawn. "That's got to be a first. Did I sleep through the alarm?"

Catra nods with a wide grin. Then, affecting a sad, ponderous tone and shaking her head, she says, "Adora soooo lazy. So sad."

"That is not what I sound like!" Adora protests.

Catra grabs Adora's noteback and pretends to scribble in it, still talking, "Bad Horde soldier. Too lazy."

"Give that back!" Adora screeches, and she jumps on top of Catra, trying to wrestle the notebook away. "At least I don't snore like a malfunctioning tank," Adora says while poking her fingers into Catra's side to make her let go of the book. Catra snorts with laughter and tries to roll away, but Adora refuses to let her, relentlessly tickling her and belting out a theatrical, truly thunderous snore at the same time.

"Good," Catra says in between gasping giggles, "very good!"

A loud grumble from her stomach makes Adora's fingers still. "Food," Catra demands.

"Oh! Yeah, we should get a move on before breakfast is cleared away." Quickly, Adora sweeps her hair into a ponytail and washes her face. Catra, who has little interest in hygiene and seems to take pride in having a long, unkempt mane, waits impatiently by the door.

"Too late for class," Catra says in a sing-song voice, looking deeply satisfied.

"Lucky for--well, all of us, your class has been cancelled today," Adora says, struggling into a clean uniform. "That's actually something I wanted to talk to you about. I talked with the Honorable Hordin, and--oh, thanks--" she says as Catra holds the door open for her, but then Adora has to stop short in the next instant, and Catra runs into her, letting out a disgruntled growl.

There's a small piece of paper, folded over, resting on the ground right outside of their doorway. Frowning, Adora bends down to pick it up. By the time she straightens back up, Catra's resting her head on Adora's shoulder to peer curiously at the proceedings.

For her benefit, Adora reads the neatly printed words aloud: "Adora, please come to my office after breakfast to return the maps. There have been some recent developments, and corrections need to be made. Thank you, Professor Darking."

"Darking?" Catra asks quizzically.

"She's a teacher," Adora responds. "I'm not sure what she's talking about. Actually, I don't really--know what to make of her." She says the second part of the sentence in quieter voice as they walk down the hallway, dodging cadets and other personnel rushing to their duties for the day.

"Why?"

"Um, she has some weird ideas," Adora says.

And then she refuses to say anything else on the subject in public, no matter how much Catra badgers her in the cafeteria, because she might be a kid but she's not going to be the idiot caught mouthing off about a teacher. "You'll meet her soon enough," Adora says, "since you'll have to come with me because you don't have class."

In retaliation, Catra smears potato down Adora's cheek. Calmly, Adora scoops it up with her finger and pops it in her mouth. Her grossness threshold has gotten a lot higher since she became friends with Catra.

When they approach Professor Darking's door after breakfast, though, Catra quiets down. It's like she's feeding off of Adora's own apprehension about the meeting, and when Adora reaches out for Catra's hand, she links their fingers together without protest. The same half-cheerful, half-threatening sign is posted on the door, and Adora swallows hard before knocking.

When Professor Darking comes to the door, her glasses are pushed to the top of her head, and she looks tired. There are bags under her eyes, like she slept as little as Adora last night. But she offers Adora a smile, disconcerting in its warmth. She doesn't know Adora. There's no reason for her to smile at Adora like that.

"Morning, Adora," the professor says. "Thanks for coming on short notice. And you brought your friend!"

"Her name's Catra," Adora says forcefully. When Professor Darking blinks at her, she glares back, defiantly.

"Great," Professor Darking says, drawing the word out and raising her eyebrow. "Nice to meet you, Catra. Come in, both of you."

The room is somehow ten times messier, like it was hit by some kind of tornado of parchment and books and multi-colored ink. Maps are strewn across almost every part of the room, including the floor, and a projection of the Horde's territory is lighting up one of the walls. In the single paper-less corner, Stanley is perched and looking very unhappy with the state of affairs.

"Please sit. Anywhere you want, really, just move whatever, Hordak knows there's no organizational system," Professor Darking says distractedly. She hops over the different piles nimbly, and Adora picks her way across, one step at a time, to sit gingerly on the edge of the couch. She turns back to clear a spot off for Catra, but the girl has disappeared sometime in the last ten seconds.

"Watch out for Stanley," Professor Darking calls out, and Adora whips her head around.

Catra has made a beeline for Stanley, and she's standing about a foot away from the animal. They're regarding each other suspiciously, their heads both cocked at the exact same angle.

"Oh dear," Professor Darking says quietly, like she's talking to herself. "I don't know if cats and owls normally get along very well."

Catra lets out an experimental mrowr? and Stanley hops a few steps away from her, ruffling his feathers up defensively. But instead of taking the hint, Catra slinks closer, with a very intent look on her face.

"Catra! Um, Catra, you can try feeding him if you want," Professor Darking says. "The treats are in the jar next to him. He's very nice after he warms up to you." In a mutter, she adds, "And he would make for very poor eating, so don't get any ideas."

"Catra just had breakfast, she's not hungry," Adora says, and the professor jumps a bit, turning back to look at her.

"Oh! Yes, of course. I didn't really mean it," she says, looking abashed. "I know better than to buy into stereotypes like that. Catra seems like a sweet enough girl."

"Yes, Catra is very well-behaved," Adora lies through her teeth. "How did you know she would understand you? When you talked to her?"

Professor Darking shrugs. "I always figure it's better to talk directly to someone instead of making assumptions one way or another. And if she didn't understand, I'd find out soon enough. Besides, look--she's feeding Stanley just fine now."

Stanley looks significantly more welcoming after Catra feeds him several treats, and when she lifts a hand to gently poke at his head, he doesn't even try to peck her. Adora shudders. His beak looks very sharp.

"I brought your maps," Adora says to change the subject.

"Yes, thank you," Professor Darking says. "I have a corrected map to give you in return. I know it's around here somewhere, I was literally just working on it..." She rummages through more piles, throwing maps over her shoulder carelessly.

"What was wrong with the maps you gave me yesterday?" Adora asks. "Were there mistakes on them?"

"Oh, no. No no no, there weren't any mistakes," Professor Darking says, sticking her head up from the piles of parchment to shoot Adora a sharp look. "I don't make mistakes on my maps. But there have been some very recent changes to Horde territory. And of course, I'm the last one to find out anything around here, so I had to stay up most of last night mapping out the additions."

"Additions?"

"Yeah. Look, I don't know if this is completely public knowledge or not, but between you and me, Lord Hordak has added a considerable amount of square footage to his empire over the last week or so." Abruptly, she tosses a rolled map to Adora, who catches it on instinct. "This is a copy of the updated version."

"And the projection on the wall...Does that show the new boundaries? I thought it looked a little different from the maps you gave me yesterday," Adora says slowly. The projection is impressive; even though the colors are faint in the sunlight filtering through the windows, the topographical rendering shows every mountain ridge and valley, like if someone had taken the entire landscape and shrunk it down in perfect miniature.

"Good eye," Professor Darking says. "That's exactly right. I knew you were a smart one." Adora has to look down at her lap, a sudden wave of embarrassment making it impossible for her to keep eye contact with the professor, but luckily Professor Darking keeps talking without a pause. "You can see right over the northern mountain range where the Horde has augmented its territory."

"We beat the princesses in a battle there," Adora guesses.

"Not quite, but that's a reasonable hypothesis. Usually we don't get new territory without a fight, and even then, the conflict between the Horde and the Rebellion has been at a virtual standstill for the past few years. But we got lucky this time, I guess," Professor Darking says. It doesn't look like she thinks they've been very lucky, though. She doesn't look happy, or relieved. Mostly, she just looks exhausted.

"I think the Kingdom of the Scorpion was ready to flip sides for a while, now," Professor Darking continues after a few moments of staring at the projection. "They just needed something to nudge them over the edge. And Lord Hordak was very happy to provide them with that push. A week of intense negotiations, and we did it. They've been enfolded into the Horde."

"That's great news, right?" Adora says. "They finally saw the wisdom of Lord Hordak's teachings? And the cruelty of the princesses' dictatorship?"

At that, Professor Darking finally does smile. "Sure, kind of. It's actually...indirectly related to Catra, if you're interested in hearing more."

Adora leans forward almost unconsciously, and she nods, fervently. Catra, of course, hasn't even realized that they mentioned her name, and she's happily holding Stanley on one of her arms while he chews at her hair. Between her little purrs and grunts and his periodic hoots, it sounds like they're having a conversation of their own.

"The Kingdom of the Scorpion has always been particularly concerned with the rights of human-animal hybrids, especially those who have...non-retractable, perhaps more stigmatized animal attributes. This is understandable, considering the nature of the royal family and most of their denizens," Professor Darking says. She pauses, as if waiting for questions, but because Adora doesn't understand most of the words the professor said, Adora decides to just keep her mouth shut. "You can take Catra for an example. She's a clear hybrid, and she has not one but several non-retractable animal characteristics. Her ears, her claws. Her tail."

"Oh," Adora says. "But that doesn't make her an animal!" 

"No, of course not. However, some in the Rebellion do hold prejudiced views, and they may treat people with those characteristics unfairly, like they are less than human. There are even some particularly old myths about certain, um, healing properties of hybrids in medicinal potions. So the bonds between the Kingdom of the Scorpion and the rest of the Rebellion have never been particularly strong, and Lord Hordak has a unique gift for sniffing out and pressing on those weak points. He promised them that all hybrids would receive equal treatment in the Horde and that, if anything, hybrids might be more highly prized because of their special attributes." Professor Darking lifts up one shoulder and lets it drop down. "It was an enticing offer, made at the right time, and the Kingdom accepted. I hear the terms were finalized only a few days ago."

Adora twists her fingers together, trying hard to parse through everything the professor just said. "Lord Hordak promised equal treatment. For hybrids, like Catra."

"Yes, that's right."

"But it's not--that's not happening." Adora looks back up at Professor Darking, and upon seeing her slackened, surprised face, presses forward. "Catra isn't being treated equally. They're calling her an--an asset. Like she's property! Yesterday, the Honorable Hordin tried to brand her on her arm with an asset designation because he said she hadn't given him enough proof that, that--I don't know. That she had intelligence."

With every word, Professor Darking's face grows paler and paler, and her lips thin to a compressed line. "He branded a child? Does she need medical treatment?"

"No, no," Adora quickly says, but she's gratified at the professor's response, at finally getting validation that Adora's own horror isn't crazy. "Catra managed to get away from him at the last minute. He mostly just branded her sleeve. He wanted to call her N3477. Like a machine."

"The asset designations have multiple categories," Professor Darking says. Her tone is calm again, but she's holding on to the edge of her desk tightly, knuckles jutting out in sharp relief. "Actually, cadets also have designations, but those are printed on their badges and begin with the letter C. The N in N3477 stands for... non-sentient."

"I don't know what that means," Adora says, "but she can understand me, and she can talk a little bit, too. She does have intelligence. She learns more and more everyday."

Right on cue, Catra wanders over with Stanley still on her arm and helpfully demonstrates her speaking abilities. "Stanley good," she says to Professor Darking.

"Yes, he is a very good bird," Professor Darking says, smiling at Catra. "Are you having fun with him?"

Instead of responding to the question, Catra fixes the professor with a hard stare. "You...take Stanley? From outside?" she interrogates haltingly. "From his...home?"

"Well, yes. In a way. I met Stanley when he was just a baby hatchling. He fell out of his nest, and his mama refused to take him back. So I took him into my home instead," Professor Darking says.

"Mama?" Catra asks, looking at Adora for a definition.

"His parent," Professor Darking says, her lips wobbling for some reason when Catra still looks blank. "The person who was supposed to take care of him. Stanley didn't have anybody, so I stepped in. Nobody--nobody should be alone."

Catra mulls this over, and then says, aggressively, "Stanley want home? Want go outside?"

"Sometimes he wants to go outside," Professor Darking says. "But this is his home now. I let him go whenever he wants, Catra. He just always comes back to me."

Catra is silent for a long time after that, and Adora clears her throat awkwardly. "We should get going. But thanks for the updated map, Professor Darking. I'll study it and bring it back when I have it memorized."

"Of course, that would be great," Professor Darking says. She walks them over to the door, Stanley reluctantly detaching himself from Catra's arm and Catra just as wistfully watching him flap off back into the room. As they walk out into the hallway, Professor Darking stops Adora with one hand on her arm.

"Adora," Professor Darking says, and then stops again. "If you need anything. If Hordin tries to do it again. You come find me, okay? I'll testify on Catra's behalf, that I've seen her demonstrate a strong command of the language and a high level of critical thinking. That should be enough."

Adora looks at the professor. She's weird, and says a lot of confusing things, but she was nice to Catra today. She explained everything in a way that Adora could understand. And...her brown eyes are open and kind. They look like they might belong to someone Adora can trust.

"All right," Adora says finally. "Thank you, Professor." She holds the promise in her heart, a little fail-safe just in case, the whole walk home.

*    *    *

Adora isn't sure when or how they started arguing, but they're definitely arguing now. Sometime after they got back to the room, Adora very politely and nicely brought up the topic of Catra's performance in her classes, and then Catra blew up at her. Her tail is fluffed out to the maximum degree, sticking straight out behind her, and even the hair on her head looks fluffier than normal.

"I'm just saying that it wouldn't kill you to be a little more respectful to the Honorable Hordin! He's old and grumpy, but he's a very experienced teacher! He's trying to help you," Adora says, and then ducks to dodge the pillow Catra throws at her head.

"No! Stupid!" Catra storms, and Adora groans. Those are pretty much the only two words that Catra has said since the argument really went into full-swing, and she has to admit that it is very difficult to hold any kind of discussion with someone who will only respond with "no" and "stupid."

"It's not stupid, it's smart," Adora tries nonetheless. "If he knows how smart you are, he'll be nicer to you. That's how it works in the Horde--you have to earn good treatment."

"So. Stupid!" Catra shouts in response, predictably.

"I'm doing this for you!" Adora yells back. "I'm telling you this because if the Honorable Hordin doesn't realize how much you've been learning, he'll keep thinking of you as an asset. He might try to brand you again, Catra! I can't let that happen!"

"No! No branding!" Catra screams.

"I know! I'm trying to stop that from happening! Why won't you just listen to me? UGH!" Adora concludes, throwing her hands up in the air.

"Because! You! Stupid!"

"Oh? Oh yeah?" Adora says, so angry that her whole body is shaking and her hands have balled up into fists. "All I'm trying to do is help you. How is that stupid, huh? How? Maybe if you were able to use words to explain it to me, instead of just screaming random mean things, we could actually get somewhere!"

Catra snarls viciously, so loud and furious that Adora backs up a few steps before remembering herself and throwing her shoulders back, proud and tall. Catra paces several steps closer, stopping when they're barely within arms reach of each other.

"Hordin not teacher," Catra says, her upper lip lifting up derisively. "Hordin not care. Hordin want property."

"What does that even mean?" Adora demands, and then has to scramble away when Catra actually takes a swipe at her.

"'Dora only talk," Catra sneers. "Just talk, talk, talk. Never listen."

"That is not true," Adora says, but she breaks off mid-statement when the door to the room opens.

Both she and Catra are frozen in their positions, Catra with her claws out and poised to pounce, and Adora with her hands on her hips, chin out, when Shadow Weaver walks into the room. She stops for a moment, eyeing them, and then visibly decides to ignore the tableau entirely.

"Sh-Shadow Weaver," Adora stammers, taking her hands from her hips and placing them behind her back.

"I'm leaving for the next two weeks," Shadow Weaver announces. She is almost vibrating with some strange energy, and her voice is light and cheerful. Happier than Adora has heard her sound for a long time.

"Where are you going?" Adora asks.

Instead of becoming annoyed at the question, Shadow Weaver responds easily. "We're starting a new offensive on the front lines against the Rebellion," she says, eyes bright. "We have some...new weapons we'd like to test drive, and princesses make the best guinea pigs around." She laughs, and the sound of it makes echoes in Adora's head, weaving in and out of Adora's memories from last night. "Everyone important is going," Shadow Weaver continues. "Lord Hordak, me as his second, and the rest of the senior leadership."

"Including the Honorable Hordin?" Adora says, trying not to sound too hopeful.

"Oh, no. Not that bag of bones. What an idea! No, he'll be staying behind where he can carry out his important teaching duties. You'll be delivering Catra to her daily classes as originally planned, of course. I trust that you can handle the responsibility without my supervision."

"Yes, Shadow Weaver," Adora says. "But--what about my evaluation with Lord Hordak? I thought it was scheduled for the week after next."

Shadow Weaver shrugs. "We'll postpone it. I'm sure you understand that Lord Hordak has much more important priorities to worry about right now. When we're back from the battlefield, he will evaluate you. Take advantage of the added preparation time," Shadow Weaver adds meaningfully. "The delay in evaluation will only mean that Lord Hordak will expect greater strides from you. And you know that this evaluation is your first opportunity to secure admission to the cadet academy."

"Yes, Shadow Weaver! I'll work very hard," Adora says.

"See that you do," Shadow Weaver says. "We leave in the next two hours. If you require any additional instruction, you may find me in the command center. Only for pressing issues, mind. You're not to come bursting into the command center in front of senior leadership for trivial matters."

"I understand," Adora says quietly. "Have a--um, a good trip."

Shadow Weaver chuckles instead of responding, and instead mockingly addresses Catra: "Be a good kitty for Adora now, N3477--I mean, Catra. I'll be back before you know it."

And then she turns on her heel and exits the room without saying anything else.

Adora stares at Catra, who stares back at her. Silence reigns for a few minutes. With Shadow Weaver's interruption, the momentum of the argument has skidded to a halt, and Adora finds that she can't muster up any more anger. It was a stupid argument, and Catra will understand why Adora is right eventually. And Shadow Weaver's departure should buy them some more time, at the very least. Adora offers a rueful smile to Catra, who smiles too.

"That was a surprise," Adora says. "Shadow Weaver usually doesn't leave for so long. But I think this is a good thing. It'll give us more time to work things out with Hordin, you know?"

"Yes, good," Catra says. "Good for going outside."

"Sure, we can use that time to go outside some more," Adora says. "I know how much you like the training fields." The rest of her sentence is muffled because Catra slaps a hand over Adora's mouth, not very gently.

"No," Catra says, heaving out a sigh and rolling her eyes like Adora's the one acting weird. "Go outside! Go home."

"Huh?" Adora says.

"Uuuuugh," Catra says, drawing the consonants out until they're almost unrecognizable, and she stomps over to Adora's bedside table, picking up the notebook and an inkpot.

"Hey, wait, don't--" Adora says, futilely, as Catra rips out a piece of paper and dips her claw into the inkpot.

"I don't like it when the notebook has ragged edges from torn-out pages," Adora says sadly and mostly to herself, because Catra is paying zero attention to her.

Finally, after several seconds of sketching away, Catra brings the paper back to her. Strangely enough, she's a good artist. She's filled the page with what looks like trees, as far as the eye can see, and random creatures peeking out from smaller plants, and fruits dropping off the branches.

"Home," Catra says.

"Oh," Adora breathes out. "This is where you came from?"

"Home," Catra repeats emphatically.

"Um, that's a very nice drawing," Adora says, and Catra throws it in her face with another loud groan.

"Shadow Weaver gone," Catra says very slowly, widening her eyes and staring Adora down. "Hordak gone. Very good."

"Okay..." Adora says.

"'Dora and Catra go, too. Go home."

"Go home," Adora repeats, and then at once it all clicks together. "You're talking about--you're talking about running away," she says in a whisper. "You want to take advantage of Shadow Weaver and Lord Hordak's trip to escape from the Horde and go...home."

"We," Catra says, looking relieved that Adora has finally caught up with the conversation. "We go home."

Chapter Text

"You want us to escape from the Horde. You. Want us. To run away from the Horde." Adora is aware that she's repeating herself, but she can't quite make herself stop. She feels like that missile launcher she saw in the repair bay the other day, the one that kept rolling forward, loading a missile, setting targeting systems, and then going back in reverse to start the whole thing over again. The poor machine looked very confused, but even then it can't have been half as lost as Adora feels right now. There is no relevant tactic or approach recommended for this kind of situation anywhere in the young cadet's textbook. And Adora should know, she's read the whole thing cover to cover at least three times now.

Catra looks a little bit worried at her inability to stop saying the same words over and over again. "Yes," she says patiently. And then, cocking her head, "'Dora need...sleep?"

"Yes," Adora says vaguely. She shakes her head a little bit, pinches her arm. "Maybe this is just a dream. Maybe all of this has been a dream."

"No," Catra says, beginning to look annoyed again. "Real. All real."

When Adora sinks down to the ground, hands over her face, Catra rolls her eyes. "Catra get food. For go home. 'Dora sleep. We go at night," she orders, and then starts walking toward the door.

"Okay, hold on!" Adora calls out, hurtling back up to her feet. "Wait, wait, wait. You're planning this out now? You're really...You're really serious about this?"

"Yes!" Catra says.

"We can't--come on, Catra. You know we can't do this." Adora forces herself to laugh a little bit, to show how ridiculous the whole idea is, but it comes out tight and strange.

"Why?" Catra demands.

"Why? There are so many reasons! I can't even list all of them off. Because it would take infinity hours," Adora says, waving her hands around emphatically. "And infinity is a lot, okay. It is so many that you can't even count it all. It goes on forever! That's how much of a bad idea this is."

"Good idea," Catra says, a mulish scowl settling in on her face.

"No! This?" Adora says, grabbing Catra's drawing back up and shaking it. "This is a fantasy, okay? What would we do, even if we did manage to get away? How would we get food? Where would we live? I can't do something like this! The Horde is all I know."

Catra shrugs. "Teach 'Dora. Easy. Good."

"It is not easy! It's crazy!" Adora tries to take a deep breath, but it keeps catching in her throat. Frustrated, she crumples the paper up and balls both hands into fists, pressing them into her eyes. They're burning, with sleep-deprivation and exasperation and just exhaustion.

"Why do you keep doing this?" she says, the words tumbling out messily.

"What?" Catra says. She looks wary, like she can hear the edge in Adora's voice that she's been trying to suppress. But it's too late.

"You keep--doing this! You keep causing trouble! I just don't know what to do anymore. I just don't under-- What is wrong with you? I have tried so hard. I do everything for you, Catra! I hunted down Hordin last night in his personal rooms just to make sure he wasn't going to hurt you again! I've talked back to Shadow Weaver. I spend all my time training you instead of studying for the evaluation that's going make or break my cadet career! And now you're talking about running away?"

Catra's face has gone blank, eyes slightly wide and mouth slack, and she's backing away on her hands and feet. She's looking at Adora like she's something strange and unfamiliar, like she's some kind of wild animal that's slipped the leash. And for some reason, it just makes Adora angrier.

"You don't get it! No matter how many times I explain it to you, you just don't understand! I want to be part of the Horde, and you should too! The Horde is making a difference in this world! We are standing in the way of princesses that would gobble all of us up, especially the weakest ones. I want to be a cadet because I want to help people. And you--you're just selfish. All you want to do is eat and sleep. You don't care about anyone other than yourself. You don't even care that your stupid tantrums make everything harder for me, even though I'm the one that has to deal with the consequences because you're too stupid to realize what is going on most of the time!" The last sentence, at least, seems to break Catra out of her dazed surprise, and it makes Adora perversely glad to see Catra's shoulders hunching up, eyes flashing anger back at Adora.

"Not stupid," Catra growls.

"You're stupid enough to think that running away is a good idea," Adora taunts. "Well, I'm not that stupid, and I'm definitely not going to run away to live like an animal in the forest!"

"FINE!" Catra shouts, the sudden outburst making Adora flinch, and then she lunges forward and pushes Adora to one side with both hands, forcefully enough to make her sprawl on her side. "Then I go. Alone."

She stalks to the door with quick steps, and without a second thought, she reaches to grasp the doorknob. A lance of painful, debilitating fear spikes through Adora's heart, and before she's conscious of even moving, she's already leaping across the space to tackle Catra. They go down hard, Catra taking the brunt of the fall, and within seconds Adora's fighting harder than she ever has before just to keep Catra from escaping through the door.

"I can't let you do this," Adora pants, trying desperately to keep Catra pinned.

"Why?" Catra shoots back before sinking fangs into Adora's wrist. Adora screams and uses her other hand to grab a fistful of Catra's hair and forcibly haul her head up.

"Shadow Weaver put me in charge! You're my responsibility!" Adora says.

"Not friend?" Catra says, sneering, and hooks her ankle behind Adora's leg to flip them over.

"You're the one who wanted to leave without--without me!" Adora snarls, and she doesn't think she's ever snarled before, but it feels startlingly right in her mouth, taking all the ugly she feels inside and bringing it out as viscerally as possible. "That's not friendship!"

"You not friendship," Catra retorts, nonsensically, and then they're struggling too hard to say anything else.

Somehow, Adora's managing to hold her own. She's not sure if it's dumb luck or sheer desperation, or if the extra training sessions on the field, combined with the dirty tricks Catra has taught her, have actually started to make a difference. Either way, she's meeting Catra blow for blow, and she gives Catra a particularly vicious right hook that forces Catra to disengage and lope backwards, further into the room.

"Just stop fighting me," Adora calls out. "I can't let you leave! You know I can't!"

"Can!" Catra shouts. "'Dora won't."

Even as she says "won't," she's moving, feinting to the right like she's trying to bypass Adora, but then changing course to crash into her, using Adora's own momentum to swing her directly into the bedpost. Adora's skull collides with the wood, hard, and tears spring to her eyes. Both of Adora's ears are ringing from the impact, and she's so lightheaded that she needs to lean against the bed for support. And once the tears start, they won't stop, and Adora can't stem the frustrated, hiccuping sobs bursting from her.

"Do you hate it that much?" Adora asks, both hands raised defensively in front of her face. "I thought you liked it here. Liked being with me."

The blows Adora expects don't come, and hesitantly, she begins to lower her hands. Catra is staring at her, face screwed into a furious frown, and she keeps opening her mouth and closing it, like she can't find the words to say.

"Horde bad," she says, but even as she's saying the words, she looks frustrated. "Hurts," she attempts again. "Hurts Catra. Hurts 'Dora."

"Pain is part of the process," Adora recites, one of her favorite passages from the textbook, the one that made everything else in Adora's life make sense. "That's how it's supposed to be. And you're part of us now, Catra. You belong to--with the Horde," Adora says, and tries to smile at her.

Adora's lowered her guard completely, the reprieve from fighting lulling her into a sense of temporary truce. So when Catra swipes at her with her claws out, she can't react fast enough to dodge or block it. All she can do is turn her head just slightly before the claws land, hook into her skin, and plow four deep burning furrows into her cheek. For a moment, Adora's vision whites out.

"Ah..." Adora gives a tiny, high-pitched whine, all the air escaping her lungs in one gasp, too pained to even scream. She claps one hand to her cheek, slippery with hot blood, and simultaneously lurches forward in an attempt to corral Catra from making a break for it while Adora is weakened.

But it's unnecessary. Catra doesn't even turn toward the door. She simply walks, slowly, into a corner, her back turned squarely to Adora. And then she lies down on the floor. Every movement is dragging and sluggish as she curls up, knees drawn into her chest, spine a perfect C. Her tail completes the circle, curving up over her head protectively. Her face is tucked so deeply into her arms and legs that Adora can't make out a single feature.

She doesn't move from that position for the rest of the night.

*     *     *

The next week is hard.

At first, Adora tries to tell herself it's not that bad. It's just like she turned back time to before Catra came to the Fright Zone. In a way, it's like her life has gone back to normal. No one to talk to, spending most of her hours alone studying. She makes great strides in memorizing the textbook, and she's sure Shadow Weaver will be happy with her performance during Lord Hordak's evaluation. But no matter how hard she tries now, she can't get back that feeling of contentment, or even calm.

It doesn't help that Catra is always hovering right in the periphery of her vision--and her thoughts. Every night, Catra sleeps in the same corner, on the floor. Just how Shadow Weaver wanted it from the beginning. Alone in the bed, with as much of the blanket as she wants, Adora can only sleep fitfully. It's too quiet and cold in the bed by herself. Catra's usual snores have disappeared, and the room is blanketed in a thick, smothering silence.

She still escorts Catra to class everyday and walks her home each evening. They still eat meals together. But it's different now. Adora doesn't feel like a coach or a trainer. She feels more like a jailer, and even the thought of that makes her feel like she's swallowed a big rock sitting heavy in her stomach.

Now, Catra goes out of her way to keep from brushing against Adora, even accidentally. She won't look Adora in the eye anymore. She's quiet and obedient and everything the Horde is looking for in a new recruit, and Adora hates it. She hates it when Catra goes to the Honorable Hordin's classroom without complaint. She hates it when Catra doesn't steal food from the mess hall for later. She hates it when Catra looks straight past Adora as if she isn't even there. In a way, it might have been better if Catra was more outwardly angry or defiant. If she gave Adora something rage against self-righteously instead of just being blank canvas of indifference.

Because even though Adora has many more free hours to devote to studying now that Catra isn't being a distraction, she can't focus right most of the time. And when she successfully memorizes a section, she doesn't feel happy. She just feels impatient and angry, for no good reason at all. But there isn't any way for her to vent it, so she just stews in the angry, miserable swamp all by herself.

Her visits to Professor Darking start off as more of an accident than anything. A few days after the fight, Adora stopped by to drop off the new map. The professor blinked at the scabbed-over scratches on her cheek, but she didn't ask any questions, for which Adora could only be fervently grateful. She handed the map over with thanks and was about to leave when Stanley flew over and landed right on Adora's head.

The next few minutes were a bit of a blur for Adora. There may have been some squealing and frantic flailing, while Professor Darking was laughing too hard to do anything helpful. For his part, Stanley was sitting cool and calm, without a feather out of place. He was lighter than Adora had expected, after she calmed down enough to register the weight. And after a few more minutes, it stopped feeling so frightening. Professor Darking coaxed him down with some treats and lightly scolding words, and he deigned to be transferred from Adora's head to her arm, where he could stare at her gravely. Then somehow--Adora still isn't quite sure this happened--Professor Darking suggested that she stay in her office while the professor went off to teach class. It was a standing invitation, so that Adora had a quiet and safe place to keep studying. And most days, Adora took her up on it.

She told herself that it was only practical. The office was more comfortable with the locker room, and even better, there was no risk of older cadets coming in and driving Adora out. She had fewer interruptions and could focus all of her attention on studying. Plus, the sunlight streaming in through the windows made the room bright and perfect for reading.

But maybe the biggest reason Adora kept coming back was--she was lonely. Stanley wasn't great company, but it was better than being alone. And he made for a surprisingly attentive listener, his big yellow eyes reminding Adora of someone else she missed way too much. It made it easy to talk to him, in spite--or maybe because of--his lack of response.

"It's just that she doesn't get it," Adora confides in him one afternoon, dangling a treat in front of Stanley's flat face. His eyes followed the treat back and forth, riveted. "And she won't even listen to me when I try to explain it! I was just trying to help her."

Finally, Stanley snatches the treat from Adora's fingers in his beak and gobbles it down. He lets out a triumphant hoot and turns his eyes back to Adora, hopeful.

"I know! She's being totally unreasonable," Adora says, reaching her hand back into the treat jar. "I was just being realistic. Running away really would have been crazy! There would have been no one to take care of us. We probably would have starved to death. Or been captured and tortured by princesses. Probably would have been locked up in cages and forced to do really terrible things. Tortured whenever we were disobedient. Always really afraid and unhappy and--ow!" Adora cries, drawing her hand back as Stanley hops away with the treat in his mouth. His beak is a lot sharper than it looks, and she rubs unhappily at the still painful mark on her palm.

She stares at the red dot of blood slowly welling up, and sighs. "You're so greedy, Stanley."

Stanley doesn't respond. Instead, he flies to the perch on one of the windowsills and peers out interestedly. He's clearly gotten what he wanted from Adora. But Adora isn't done talking, so she follows him over to the windows and rests an elbow on the sill, leaning her cheek against her closed fist. The windows look out onto the training field, where a class of cadets is running through several complex drills. A red-faced teacher stands in the corner, looking like he's yelling himself hoarse. One of the smaller cadets, with shorter legs, can't quite keep up. As Adora watches, the teacher storms over to the cadet and smacks her with the training lance. She bursts into tears. Adora grits her teeth and has to look away, uncomfortably.

"Okay, fine," Adora snaps. "I get it. Sometimes the Horde isn't the nicest place to be, either. But it's got to be better than outside in the compound, in Rebellion territory!"

Stanley swivels his head away from the window, almost 360 degrees, to watch Adora beadily. Something about his gaze looks accusing.

"At least here, we know the rules," Adora argues. "I can protect Catra here because I know--I know what the dangers are." There's a lump in Adora's throat that she has to swallow around. "I wouldn't be able to do anything out in the wild. If a princess came, or even a big animal, we would be dead meat. I just want to keep Catra safe!"

Stanley bows his head, like he's in deep thought. Gently, Adora reaches out a hand and cards her fingers through the soft, mottled feathers. As she pets him, Stanley lets out a soothing rumble, almost like a purr, and Adora has to bite her lip hard against the sudden prick of tears.

"I know. I know!" Adora says. "She isn't like you, or me. She didn't have any choice about being here. She just got too close one day and probably was caught by the guard, and then no one would--would let her go. She was trapped," Adora continues, each word scraping itself out of her throat, painful and gut-wrenching. "We treated her like... an animal. And when she tried to escape, she trusted me enough to tell me, and then I--I wouldn't let her."

Even though she's digging her nails into her palms as hard as she can, Adora can't stop a sob from heaving its way out of her chest, all the more violent for the attempted suppression. The sudden noise makes Stanley rear back, alarmed, and Adora claps a hand over her mouth. Her body feels almost separate from her, like she can't control its movements. She can feel her face screwing into a horrified, gaping grimace of pain and her stomach feels like it's tying itself into knot after knot on top of each other, so tightly they'll never come free.

"Did I do a bad thing?" Adora whispers between almost silent, heaving sobs. "Did I, Stanley? I didn't mean to. I just wanted to protect her."

To his credit, Stanley doesn't fly away or peck at her. After he calms down, he just keeps watching her in companionable silence. There's something almost sympathetic in his golden eyes, and Adora has to shut her eyes against their glow to compose herself. The moments tick by, and Adora's sobs gradually subside into sniffles. After some time, Stanley takes her uniform sleeve in his beak and begins tugging at her insistently. When she straightens up and lets him drag her as he wants, he leads her back over to the treat jar.

*     *     *

Adora makes more of an effort after that. It's difficult for her to fully believe that she was in the wrong. She still thinks that staying with the Horde is the safest move for everyone, not least because Shadow Weaver would have dispatched a search party for them the second she discovered their absence. And when -- not if -- they got caught, there would have been very painful consequences. But now that the initial surge of anger and righteous indignation has passed, Adora can see that things aren't as straightforward as she thought. Even though Adora might have all the good reasons in the world for them to stay with the Horde, it still wasn't right to force someone else into that decision. She didn't listen to what Catra wanted. She took away her freedom just as much as the Honorable Hordin and Shadow Weaver and all the other adults that Catra hates so much in the Horde.

Adora made a mistake. And she's willing to admit that.

But Catra, she discovers, is possibly the most stubborn, annoying, bull-headed person in the entire Fright Zone. The first day, Adora saves some of the anchovy-flavored ration bars, Catra's favorite, and leaves them by the corner where Catra has been sleeping. She thought about leaving a note, but figured that first, Catra wouldn't be able to read it, and second, Catra would probably just rip it up without even trying to decipher it.

Even that assessment was too rosy. When Catra sees the ration bars, she darts one furious look at Adora and then deliberately kicks them to one side before curling up for bed. The ration bars are gone by tomorrow morning, but Adora doesn't kid herself that it's a gesture of forgiveness. It was probably a product of late-night hunger and Adora being unconscious.

On the second day, Adora spends precious hours smoothing out the creases in Catra's drawing of her home. Each time she looks at it, she sees something new. Birds flitting in between the leaves, the suggestion of flowers scattered on the ground. Even though the picture was hastily drawn, there is love in every line. (If Adora had to draw a picture of the Horde, she's not sure what it would look like.) With help from Professor Darking, Adora manages to find some colored inks, and she carefully shades in the picture with vibrant hues of red, blue, and green. It's a little sloppy, but Adora spent most of the afternoon painstakingly trying to follow all the lines. She thinks it looks pretty good for someone who's never colored anything in before.

When she presents it to Catra, trying not to let the pride show too obviously on her face, Catra's face crumples for just a split second before she averts her gaze. She snatches the drawing away and then, without hesitation, claws it to bits. The pieces fall to the floor in an untidy pile. All Adora can do is stare at the collection of bright colors, laying there like just-fallen leaves. Her breath keeps sticking in her chest, and her heart is beating very loudly in her ears. For some reason, Adora really thought this would work.

After Catra walks over to her usual corner, Adora kneels down to gather all the bits of paper up. She keeps stopping to press her hand against her chest, against the ache, so it takes longer than it should.

On the third day, Adora finds Catra standing in front of the locker room doing her best job of smashing the security keypad to bits. Adora has purposely been giving Catra more space, trying not to follow her from place to place. Letting her have as much freedom as she can within the walls of the Fright Zone. So this evening, when Catra walked out of the room silently, Adora let her go without protest. And she waited a good half hour before she couldn't take it anymore and went looking for where Catra might have gone.

Catra's not looking in the best shape. Besides the dark circles under her eyes, she hasn't changed her uniform in days, and to Adora's knowledge, she hasn't bathed in just as long. There's a distinct whiff of body odor, and Catra's hair is a matted mess again. Considering how much Catra enjoys getting clean, Adora knows that it's a mark of how angry Catra still is that she refused to go to Adora for help getting into the locker room. Even now, she appears to be attempting to brute-force the locking mechanism, although all she's accomplishing is bruising her own hands.

"Will you let me help?" Adora asks hesitantly after a few minutes, when Catra doesn't do anything to acknowledge her presence.

Unsurprisingly, Catra doesn't respond. But she does stop beating fruitlessly on the keypad, and then, after a moment of indecision, moves just enough to the side that Adora can punch the code in.

"For the future, the code is 328994," Adora says. "I-I should have told you that before." She doesn't say that, somewhere deep down, she had been hoping that Catra's displeasure with being dirty and smelly would eventually drive her to ask for Adora's assistance. It was a selfish thought, and Adora's ashamed that it crossed her mind at all.

The door clicks open, and Catra pushes past Adora to enter the locker room. Even though she knows it's a stupid idea, Adora follows her inside. It's like her feet move without conscious permission, drawn like a magnet to Catra even though she knows she's just asking for more anger and rejection. She's proven right a few seconds later when Catra activates the water spray on the wall controls for the nozzle right over Adora's head.

"Blegh," Adora sputters out when the water dumps out over her head. Catra's very studiously not looking in her direction, but a smirk ghosts across her lips, here and then gone again. It emboldens Adora enough to keep talking even as her uniform becomes soaked through.

It almost feels better that way, that she feels wet and uncomfortable and a little embarrassed in front of Catra. She's purposely trying to let Catra have the upper hand, in a way that Catra has so rarely been able to enjoy in the Fright Zone. Adora's tired of being at odds with her only friend. And she's ready to humble herself, dripping water everywhere and all.

"I'm really sorry, Catra," Adora starts. She always figures it's better to play a strong card first. "I guess I haven't said that yet. I know I should have said it sooner. I should have said a lot of things sooner. But I'm sorry, I really am. "

Catra's back is still to Adora, but the line of her shoulders seem to loosen a little bit.

"I made a mistake. I was afraid, and I thought I knew better than you. And maybe I did, but--but I shouldn't have taken your choice away from you. You're smart, and you can think for yourself, and I should have respected that."

When Catra turns around, Adora is so surprised that she skids slightly on the slippery tile, windmilling her arms for balance. For the first time in more than a week, they meet eyes. The shower spray is cascading over Catra's head, slicking down her usually unruly hair, and droplets catch in her thick lashes, one after another. She keeps blinking away the water, and Adora thinks at first that it's just because of the shower, but then she notices the small hitches in Catra's breath, the way her shoulders jerk minutely up and down.

"I'm sorry, don't cry," Adora wails, beginning to tear up herself, and she hurls herself across the space between them.

It isn't the most thought-out move, and she slips off-balance halfway across, gravity pulling her down, and by the time she collides with Catra, her momentum has built up to the point that neither of them can keep from falling over.

"Oops," Adora says.

"Ugh," Catra says, but Adora doesn't take it too personally when little hiccups keep escaping every other breath.

"I just didn't want you to leave," Adora continues, grabbing hold of Catra's shoulders. "You're my friend, Catra. You're my best friend. You're the only one I can talk to here, really talk to, and I just--I didn't want to lost that. I was selfish."

"Yes," Catra says, and Adora is startled into a laugh.

"Yes," she says. "I was terrified you would leave me. And especially like that! With no plan at all! Sure, Shadow Weaver and Lord Hordak are gone, but people still would have noticed that you escaped. You have lessons with the Honorable Hordin every single day. He would have raised the alarm immediately, and then you would have been caught and punished. It would have ended badly. Really badly."

Catra's head cocks to one side, and she studies Adora intently, but she doesn't say anything.

"But I was still in the wrong," Adora quickly backpedals. "I shouldn't have forced you to stay. And I'm really sorry."

"Okay," Catra says.

"And--oh," Adora says at the same time.

"'Dora talk too much," Catra says, with affection.

"Well how else am I supposed to apologize," Adora says, but then has to cut off before she swallows a mouthful of Catra's hair because Catra is shoving her head in Adora's face.

"Help," Catra demands.

"Yes ma'am," Adora says, and starts working. As she lathers Catra's hair up, working her hands gently over Catra's scalp, Catra leans heavily against Adora. Her breathing is deep and contented, and after a few moments, Adora can feel the vibrations of Catra's purr start up. The sound settles something in her, and the big ball of anxiety sitting in her chest begins to unwind. On impulse, Adora leans to the side, awkwardly angling over Catra's shoulder, and licks one big stripe up her cheek. The look of delight Catra gives her is worth the gross factor. Even after Catra licks her back.

So all in all, Adora thinks the third day went pretty well.

On the fourth day, Shadow Weaver comes back.

*     *     *

The first thing Adora notices is the noise. It's an almost solid wall of sound coming up through the hallways, echoing off the stone tiles and making it impossible to tell where it's coming from. Even buried deep in Professor Darking's office, Adora can hear the vibrations through the walls and under her feet. Stanley squawks, unsettled, and Adora silently agrees with him. She's never heard this kind of noise in the Fright Zone before. She didn't even know there were enough people in the entire Horde to be able to create this level of volume.

She's still debating whether she should venture outside to check what's going on, or stay inside where she feels relatively safe, when Professor Darking bursts into the room.

"What are you doing here?" Adora blurts out before realizing how rude she sounds. "I mean--I'm sorry--I thought you had class--"

"It's not a problem, Adora. I came back to find you." Professor Darking says. Her eyes are wide, and there's a certain tension in her shoulders. Adora's own shoulders go up in unconscious response. "Class has been cancelled."

"Cancelled?" Adora asks, alarmed.

"Everyone's come back. Shadow Weaver, Lord Hordak, all the soldiers. The Horde has--we've secured a key victory against the Rebellion. Lord Hordak has called a meeting in the throne room for everyone in the Horde. I wanted to let you know. Shadow Weaver will probably be looking for you."

"Oh!" Adora says, relaxing. "That's really good news!"

"Yes, our first major victory in a decade," Professor Darking says, her voice thick with emotion.

"I can't believe it! This is so cool. I need--I need to go get Catra!" Adora says. "See you in the throne room, Professor!"

Without waiting for a reply, Adora jogs over to the door. Excitement is coursing through her body, and she can't wait to share the joy with Catra. A victory is exactly what they needed to fully patch over their fight, and now Catra will see firsthand how strong the Horde is.

It doesn't hurt that Adora's never experienced a big victory herself--all her life, she's been told to keep training, keep struggling, for fear that they would lose ground to the princesses. She hadn't realized that the Horde hasn't had a significant win in a decade, but when Professor Darking said it, it made sense. Adora certainly can't remember anything similar to the scene that greets her when she opens the door now.

If she thought the noise was bad in Professor Darking's office, it's positively deafening when she steps out into the hallway. Cadets are coursing through the corridors, many cheering at the top of their lungs, or singing different worship songs. She thinks she hears the chorus of Lord Hordak Is Our Savior, and a few snatches of Hordak the All-Mighty. Luckily, she's a good head or two shorter than even the younger cadets, and she can weave her way in and out of the crowd without too much difficulty. The hardest part is making sure she doesn't get stepped on. Although at least in this environment, she can be sure it's an accident instead of someone being mean.

The door to the Honorable Hordin's classroom has already been flung open, and the old man has braced himself against the doorway, surveying the mob of soldiers with a gaping, dumbfounded expression.

"Heard the good news, Honorable Hordin?" Adora asks as she peeks behind him. Catra has curled herself up into a corner, pressing fists against her ears.

"Oh yes," he mutters. "And we have all been summoned by the mighty Lord Hordak."

"I'll bring Catra to the throne room," Adora reassures him. "Come on!" She tugs at Catra's arm, but the girl refuses to move. Her face is set into an unhappy scowl, but Adora can see how tightly her shoulders are hunched, and the beginnings of tears at the corners of her eyes. She's pressing frantically on her ears, like she's trying to block the sound from getting through. 

"Don't be scared," Adora says, more gently. Dimly, she registers the Honorable Hordin leaving the room to join the crowd. "I'm sorry, I know how sensitive your ears are. Here," she says, and fishes around in her pockets. "I think I have something..." Finally, she unearths the cotton balls she had wadded in there. "I got these from the infirmary to clean the, um, the scratches on my face, but there were extra. Try putting these in your ears."

With Adora's coaxing, Catra eventually takes a hand away from one ear long enough to grab the cotton ball and stuff it in. A few moments later, she snatches the other one as well.

"Better?" Adora asks.

"...Yes," Catra concedes. She picks up Adora's hand and laces their fingers together.

"You're welcome," Adora says, smiling at her. "Now come on, I don't want to miss it."

"What?" Catra asks, but she's caught onto Adora's sense of urgency, and she follows her willingly out into the hall, even matching her quick, darting pace.

"I think Lord Hordak and Shadow Weaver are going to make some kind of victory speech! They won against the princesses!" Adora says excitedly.

"Shadow Weaver," Catra mutters darkly, but she doesn't try to stop Adora from pulling her forward.

By the time they reach the throne room, the space has been packed nearly to the brim. Adora has never seen so many people in the cavernous space, and the fluorescent overhead lighting casts stark shadows, making it feel even more claustrophobic. At the center of the room, on a raised dais, is Lord Hordak. He is seated on the large throne, with Shadow Weaver standing directly behind his right shoulder. One of Shadow Weaver's hands rests in a proprietary fashion on the back of the throne.

In front of Lord Hordak, a small winged figure is darting back and forth, waving a bell in his hands. He's shouting something, although his voice can't be heard over the roar of the crowd. Adora squints. It looks like he's shouting, "Silence!"

Finally, Lord Hordak holds up a single hand, and the room gradually falls silent. All except for one brave soldier, who yells, "All hail!" and is immediately answered by a chorus of "All hail!"s, Adora following just one beat behind. Catra stays silent, but she's swiveling her head back and forth, watching the proceedings curiously.

"Long live the Horde!" Lord Hordak calls out, and the winged boy tolls the bell once.

"Long live our lord!" the Horde roars back.

"We have returned victorious," Lord Hordak announces. His deep voice rings throughout the room, and though he pauses, nobody in the room breaks the silence. It feels like everyone is holding their breath, waiting for the next shoe to drop. "The general of the Rebellion, the pretend usurper to the Bright Moon throne, has fallen!"

After Lord Hordak utters the last word, the room erupts. There's no other word for it. Adora feels like she's been swallowed up in an explosion of sound, screams and whistles and stomping and chanting. Hastily, Adora puts a protective arm around Catra, trying her best to cover up the girl's ears. Next to Catra, an older cadet is literally sobbing with joy, and she is staring at Lord Hordak with an ecstatic, worshipful light in her eyes. To Adora's left, a different cadet faints, and Adora has to scoot Catra and herself quickly away before they get squashed by the much larger boy. The excitement and joy in the air should be contagious, but for some reason, Adora can't shake a feeling of unease. She's never seen so many people so...overwhelmed.

"The Princess Alliance has disintegrated," Lord Hordak continues, when the noise begins to die down. "The Rebellion is in retreat, limping into their respective boltholes like wounded animals. Our troops have been able to return home, some for the first time in over ten years, while a small contingent continues to hold the border. Complete victory is close at hand!"

He has to pause again when the cheers reignite, and while his face remains mostly impassive, a small smile plays on his lips. He looks deeply satisfied, and behind him, Shadow Weaver is wearing an equally satisfied expression. During the pause in his speech, Adora casts a furtive look around the throne room again. Now that she's studying the people more closely, hundreds of unfamiliar faces jump out at her, old and dirty and tired. They must be the soldiers Lord Hordak is talking about, the ones fighting on the front lines for years and years. That's why, Adora realizes with a jolt, there were so many empty rooms in the Honorable Hordin's wing, an area of the compound so disused that Adora herself had never gone there before she had to stalk Hordin to his personal quarters. The population of the Fright Zone looks like it has almost doubled in the last few hours.

"We owe this victory to the blood and sweat of many," Lord Hordak says. "The returning troops are to be treated as the heroes they are, for courageously and tirelessly holding down the front lines until we could secure this victory today. But most of all," he says, "today's achievement would not have been possible without our new ally, the Kingdom of the Scorpion!" He gestures toward the left of the dais, and a small circle of space empties out around an older man. He was invisible in the crowd before, but as people move respectfully away, Adora can see that he's tall, with broad shoulders and a shock of white hair on his head. He's wearing some kind of strange uniform, with over-long sleeves and some strange protrusion in the back. The man has his arm around a small girl, someone who looks like she can't be much older than Adora. She looks terrified at the attention, and Adora can't blame her. As she watches, the man bends down to whisper something in the girl's ear. Afterwards, she rearranges her face into a wobbly smile, and the cheers get even louder.

"And to my second-in-command," Lord Hordak says. At those words, Shadow Weaver abruptly leaves her post at the side of his throne and falls to her knees in front of him, head bowed.

"My lord," she says.

"I have entrusted you with much, and you have exceeded all of my expectations. Many objected when I appointed you to this post, saying you were too untested, too unknown. But you have proven your loyalty and your worth to me tenfold," Lord Hordak intones, and he rests a single white hand on Shadow Weaver's dark head. "Your work wielding the Black Garnet was the single, most critical factor behind our victory today. Please rise, and accept this commendation."

As Shadow Weaver stands, excitement builds back up in Adora, and she cheers along with the rest of the Horde, screaming and stamping her feet and waving her hands in the air. That's her mentor. That's her mentor! But when she catches a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye, she turns her head to see Catra squirming her way through the crowd, trying to get away. Perplexed, Adora grabs her sleeve and gives her a questioning look. Catra just frowns back and points at her ears.

"Sorry, I forgot!" Adora shouts. "This must be really painful for you. I'll meet you back at our rooms, okay? Do you know the way back?"

Catra nods, rolling her eyes, and waves Adora off before continuing to weave a path in between the screaming throngs.

After Catra leaves, other cadets press quickly into the space she left behind, like they had been afraid of getting too close to Catra. Adora is quickly buried under the taller bodies. No matter how high she tries to go on her tiptoes, she can't see the dais anymore, and the noise around her is too loud for her to make out what's going on. After what feels like several interminable minutes of cheering, the sound of the bell tolls again, and the winged boy announces victory celebrations in the mess hall. As one, the masses stampede in that direction like a pack of animals moving inexorably towards the watering hole.

Adora moves with them, half involuntarily, just so she doesn't get run over. She figures that when things calm down in the victory celebrations, she can find Shadow Weaver and congratulate her in person.

But the victory celebrations are the opposite of calm. The noise isn't the solid wall that it was before, but there's still sound coming from every direction, people toasting each other and laughing and singing. Tables have been set up with food and drink, lavish plates of smoked meats and fish and even fruits, which Adora can't remember eating since she was very young, barely more than a baby. There are also huge crystal bowls of some kind of ruby-colored liquid that Adora has never seen before. She sniffs one bowl, experimentally, and the harsh caustic smell sends her reeling back. It's a combination of sickly sweet yet scorchingly astringent, and she can't understand how anyone is drinking the stuff. Even as she looks around, though, it seems like everyone has a glass of the liquid in their hand.

Shuddering, Adora grabs a round, bright orange fruit and settles in the corner to wait for the crowd around Shadow Weaver to disperse. She can't quite remember how to eat it, so she just bites into it. The peel is a little tough, but it gives away when she uses more pressure, and the flesh inside is juicy and sweet and the best thing Adora has tasted in a long time. Surreptitiously, she scampers back to the tables to load her pockets up with more for Catra.

It seems like she doesn't need to be too careful, though. As time goes by, the overall atmosphere of the celebrations changes. People's postures are getting looser, some sagging like they can't quite keep themselves upright. They're laughing louder and longer, making big, extravagant gestures with their hands, and grabbing at each other and tugging friends into dark corners and hallways. It almost looks like there's been a mass drugging.

In a corner of the hall, Shadow Weaver is draped expansively over a chair, arm hanging off the side, head lolling back against the wall. Around her, cadets are scurrying back and forth to fetch her more food and fill her glass continuously with that noxious red liquid. But the really big crowds have melted away, so Adora thinks it's as good a time as any to approach Shadow Weaver.

She approaches slowly, taking a meandering path over so she can veer off if necessary. It might be over-cautious, but Adora has never seen Shadow Weaver in this kind of mood, so she wants to leave as many exits open as possible. When she's only a few feet away from Shadow Weaver's chair, Shadow Weaver focuses half-lidded eyes on her, and she gives Adora a caressing smile. "Adora. So glad you could make it. Why aren't you celebrating properly?" she asks, and gestures with her glass.

"I didn't like the smell," Adora responds honestly. She's taken aback when Shadow Weaver laughs, too-long and too-loud.

"Still so young, and very precocious," Shadow Weaver says. "But your age betrays you."

"...Okay," Adora says. "Um. I just wanted to come over and congratulate you. It's really incredible, what you've done. I can't believe that this is our first big victory in so many years."

"Believe it," Shadow Weaver says, and giggles again. "Where's your little pet, Adora? I recall entrusting the animal to your care. Seems to me like you're shirking your respo--responshabilities."

"She's waiting in our rooms," Adora says, twisting her hands together. The smell of Shadow Weaver's breath is pungent this close up, almost as bad as that whiff she got of the punch bowl. "I had her go back because the noise was hurting her ears. She has really good hearing."

"Of course she does!" Shadow Weaver says, voice suddenly rising. "She's a little wildling, isn't she? All of those beasts have acute senses of smell, and hearing. They have to have something to make up for their diminished intellec--leckshual capacity. Otherwise they would have died off years ago. Years ago," she mumbles to herself, before laughing.

Adora stares at the floor, chewing her lip to keep herself from saying anything stupid. Clearly the liquid everyone is drinking is doing something to them. Changing them, making them meaner and louder and stupider. Shadow Weaver doesn't really mean what she's saying.

"I had a pet once, too, you know," Shadow Weaver says, brightly, like they hadn't just lapsed into several minutes of silence. "So I sympathize. It's so easy to get attached to the dumb creatures. It's because they're so helpless and vulnerable. It just makes you want to poke and play with all their weak spots. But take it from me, Adora--better that they know their place, and you know yours."

She takes a deep gulp from her glass and leans toward Adora, beckoning her forward. Reluctantly, Adora takes a few more steps until she's only inches away from Shadow Weaver's face. "I was so sad when my pet died," Shadow Weaver confides, still smiling. "Even though it was necessary. I had to do it, to strengthen my powers, of course. And they do say your first time is the hardest. The head just went--pop!" And then Shadow Weaver's off again, laughing with an edge of hysteria.

"Oh," Adora says involuntarily. "Oh." Bile is rising up in her throat, and she swallows once, and again, but it isn't helping. She's going to throw up. "I have to go," she says, words all running together, and then she bolts from the mess hall.

"Good-bye, dear," she hears Shadow Weaver call out after her. It's the first time Shadow Weaver has used that endearment since Adora was a toddler, she's pretty sure.

By the time Adora finishes heaving her guts out into a trash receptacle in the hallway, she feels much better. Outside of the mess hall, the atmosphere feels less suffocating. Her surroundings don't feel so alien. After she recovers, Adora is sure Shadow Weaver will be back to normal, too. Wiping the corner of her mouth clean, Adora makes the very easy decision not to go back into the mess hall. It's almost evening, and she's tired. The celebrations seem like they're winding down, anyway. She'll go back to the rooms and find Catra, and they'll hold hands while Adora tells her about how weird the victory celebrations were, and she won't feel so out of sorts anymore.

When she gets back to their quarters, she hesitates for a moment, then knocks on the door. It feels weird, to be doing that to her own room, but Adora is serious about trying to make a new start with Catra. She wants to show her that she respects her, and that Catra has the right to make her own decisions and have her own space. Adora isn't going to make the same mistake again.

No one responds to the knock. Adora frowns, briefly, but shrugs it off. She's never knocked before, and Catra is probably confused. Keying the security code in by memory, Adora unlocks the door and walks inside.

"Catra?" she says. The room's lights are on, but Catra's nowhere in sight. "Catra, stop hiding! I have food for you." She pauses, triumphantly holding the fruit up in her hands. No matter where Catra's sequestered herself, the call of food never fails to send her running.

But several more moments go by, and there's nothing. Not even an inquisitive rustle. "I said, I have food!" Adora says louder. She can hear her voice getting tense, and she tries to relax herself by taking several deep breaths, just like Professor Darking told her. "Catra, this isn't funny."

Finally, Adora abandons any pretense of calm and begins casting items aside everywhere as she searches the room. The blanket goes on the floor, the hamper is upended, and she even manages to push the chest of drawers out of its alcove. But she finds nothing. There's no sign of Catra anywhere in the rooms. She even creeps into Shadow Weaver's chambers to look around, but unsurprisingly, Catra isn't there either.

Quickly, Adora runs back out into the hall. She has to stay calm. Maybe Catra decided to go to the training fields out of boredom. Or maybe Catra went back to the mess hall to look for her. Or the throne room. There aren't that many places that Catra knows, and even fewer that would make sense for her to go. All Adora has to do is make a plan and methodically check off the possible places.

Instead, she sprints from location to location in a panic, often doubling back to search in a place she missed, like a dumb baby in her first simulation. She can feel panic creeping up to seize her lungs, her breath coming shorter as she runs, stops, crouches, desperately searching. She calls out "Catra!" continuously, but then berates herself for being too loud in case anyone overhears. No one does--most of the places, like the training fields, are completely deserted.

She searches every nook and cranny she can think of, until her legs ache and she has to ball her hands into fists to keep them from trembling.

It's no good. All of it is no good. Catra is gone.

Chapter Text

Adora understands now why Catra curled up in a ball for so many nights in a row. For some reason, drawing her legs up to her chest and hugging them to herself, tucking her face away into her knees, is the only thing that begins to lessen the awful, gnawing ache inside of her. And when she shuts her eyes, she can imagine that she's transported to a place without time or location, where she can pretend that none of the events of the past two weeks have happened and Catra is somewhere just out of reach.

But it only works for so long. Adora can't stop replaying her own words in her head. You can't leave without a plan! Shadow Weaver and Lord Hordak are gone, but people still would have noticed you were gone. You have lessons with the Honorable Hordin every single day. He would have raised the alarm immediately, and then you would have been caught and punished. All of those things were right at the time, but now, Catra couldn't have picked a better moment to slip away if she tried. Between the victory celebrations putting everyone out of commission, and Lord Hordak's ordering of a weeklong holiday to commemorate the occasion, Catra might actually get away successfully. Her disappearance probably wouldn't be noticed for several days, more than enough time for her to run back home and hide herself so thoroughly no one could ever find her, just like she had for the majority of her life.

At least, she might be successful if Adora covered up for her. If Adora raised the alarm now, they would likely put a search party together right away. There might be a small delay, for people to recover from the influence of whatever was in that red drink, but it wouldn't be too long. Lord Hordak would never approve the consumption of something that incapacitated soldiers long-term. If she told Shadow Weaver that Catra was missing now, there might be enough time to catch up with her. To find her, and bring her back.

Adora bites her lip so hard she draws blood. Unbidden, Catra's face comes to the forefront of her mind, that exact expression she was wearing when she realized Adora didn't want to "go home" with her. The shock in the lines of her open mouth, the widening of her eyes. The way she held one hand out, but warily, like she couldn't decide whether she was reaching out for Adora or trying to keep her away. The awful, gradual understanding darkening her face that Adora would be the one blocking her way back to her true home.

She tries to picture doing it again to Catra, and... she can't. Her mind physically won't let her. She can't imagine a world where she could willingly put that expression back on Catra's face. And if that means defying Shadow Weaver's orders, if it means forsaking averything she's been taught in the Horde... that's too bad. She still can't do it.

The realization is freeing, in a way, even as it terrifies her. She knows what Shadow Weaver would say. This makes her weak, unfit to be a Horde soldier. Simply thinking all of this is in blatant violation of the second precept. Loyalty to the Horde above all material attachments. She feels like she understands that precept now, fully comprehends everything that it stands for, where before it was only words on a page that she had memorized dutifully. It didn't mean anything, before, because she didn't have an attachment to anything.

But she definitely has an attachment to Catra now. It has wormed its way so deep into Adora's heart that she can't root it out. Betraying Catra would feel about the same, probably, as cutting her heart out.

She takes a deep, calming breath, and lifts her head back up. Her heart isn't racing so fast, anymore, now that she's made a decision. It feels good to know on which side she stands.

But as she raises her head, her eyes catch on the collection of colored scraps on her bedside table. The drawing Catra had made and then clawed apart. Adora was keeping it on her bedside table, with not-quite-formed thoughts about perhaps finding a way to piece it back together again. Save it for Catra, as a link back to her home even though she couldn't go back. But now that she's staring at the bright reds and blues and greens, regret and longing twisting sour in her stomach, a new thought crosses her mind.

She's searched almost the entire Fright Zone compound at this point, zipping from one corner to the next to look in all of she and Catra's usual haunts. But one place she hasn't looked is Professor Darking's office. It's because it was a long shot, at best. Adora has only taken Catra there once, which is probably not enough to remember the way there. But Catra had really loved Stanley. And Catra's sense of direction is much better than Adora's, and her tracking senses are second to none. There's a possibility...a slight one, but a possibility nevertheless.

Before she can talk herself out of it, Adora is on her feet and moving to the door. This will be the last place she checks, she bargains with herself. Just one last place, and then she'll give up and let Catra have her freedom. But just in case Catra is in Professor Darking's office hanging out with Stanley, she wants to know. She wants to find her and bring her back to their room, feed her the fruits and get ready for bed. Just like any (almost) regular night.

Adora walks through the halls with quick, sure steps; she's walked this route so many times over the past weeks that it's second-nature to make all the right twists and turns without even thinking about it. There are barely any people out in the halls, and those that are seem a little...addled. Or distracted, with each other, and Adora has to turn away from one enthusiastically kissing couple with a shudder. Adults are so gross. Luckily, they're definitely not in any condition to recognize Adora, let alone stop or question her.

When Adora is standing in front of the door to Professor Darking's office, she knocks twice. There's no answer. So she tries the doorknob instead, rattles it without success. The door is locked, but when Adora puts her ear against the wood, she can hear Stanley hooting. Professor Darking only leaves him in the office during the day, when she's at her classes. If she's retired for the night, she would have taken Stanley with her. Unless she's forgotten about him in the victory celebrations.

Regardless, Adora knocks again, louder. And when there's still no response, she presses her ear back against the door. She definitely hears rustling and thumping, the sound of heavy things being moved around. There's got to be someone in there who isn't Stanley. Against her better judgment, Adora's heart leaps. If someone is in there but refusing to answer the knocks, it might be Catra, too scared to open the door without knowing who is on the other side. So Adora looks first to her right, then her left, to check that there aren't any other cadets roaming this particular corridor. When there's no one in sight, she presses her face to the crack between the door and the frame and calls, "It's me, Adora! Are you in there?" And then, more quietly, "Catra?"

After a moment of silence, the door clicks open.

"I'm so happy I--" Adora starts, but then the door opens fully to reveal Professor Darking.

She looks even more disheveled than normal, hair pulled into a messy bun and several smudges on her cheeks. Draped over one shoulder is a half-open knapsack, and she has sturdy traveling boots on her feet.

"Adora! Come in, come in," the professor says, ushering her in hurriedly and then shutting the door. "What's wrong? It sounded like there was some emergency."

"Oh, no, I just, um..." Adora trails off awkwardly, first because she isn't sure what to say, and then because she's struck dumb by the state of the room. The office has never been neat, but it has never looked quite this bad. Several maps are crumpled into a corner, a whole mess of pens and pencils have spilled out across the floor, and open trunks sit in the middle of the room stuffed with books and clothing and random instruments that Adora doesn't recognize. Stanley has been enclosed in a silver cage, perched on the edge of the desk. "What's going on?" she asks. "Are you going somewhere?" Too? she adds mentally.

Professor Darking looks around the room as well, and laughs a little, self-consciously, pressing her hands to her cheeks. "You could say that. I've been, um, sent on an urgent mission. Top-secret, which is why I hadn't been answering the door. But you sounded pretty upset out there, so I thought I should check what was going on."

"A mission!" Adora says, distracted. "Is it related to today's victory?"

"Yes, it is," Professor Darking says. "I'm afraid I'll be gone for quite a while. Lord Hordak has sent me to the border to carry out some covert operations. Root out remaining resistance, solidify our boundary lines, that kind of thing."

"Oh, wow," Adora says. She can't help but feel impressed--she thought the professor's duties only included teaching and researching, not carrying out actual missions. "I bet you'll do a great job," she says loyally.

Adora's endorsement brings a fleeting smile to Professor Darking's lips, but it disappears after another moment. "Thank you, Adora. And I'm sure I don't have to tell you this, but--the mission is on a strictly need-to-know basis. I received the orders straight from Lord Hordak, and as far as I know, no one else is aware. The mission's success depends on the utmost secrecy of my movements. But I know I can count on you," Professor Darking says warmly.

"You can! Of course," Adora says. As she utters those words, though, a wave of sadness washes through her. First Catra, now Professor Darking. Adora will be alone again. At least she still has Shadow Weaver.

"Now, what did you need?" the professor asks.

"Oh! It wasn't anything important," Adora says, her gaze sliding to the floor. "I'm sorry for bothering you. I was just, um. I was just looking for something, but I don't think it's here, so um, I'm going to go--"

"I thought I heard you say Catra's name when I was opening the door," Professor Darking says. Her brown eyes, normally warm and reassuring, are shrewd now as they search Adora's face. Adora desperately tries and fails to keep herself from fidgeting.

"That's weird," Adora tries to say convincingly. "I, um, I don't remember saying that..."

"Is Catra missing?" Professor Darking says, raising an eyebrow. "Do you need help looking for her? She hasn't come to my office, but perhaps--"

"No!" Adora shouts, and then immediately shrinks back. "I'm sorry. I just, um, I just--" Adora says, desperately trying to find a credible way of ending that sentence, but nothing is coming to mind. She doesn't realize that her breaths are coming in short, agitated pants until Professor Darking places both hands on Adora's shoulders and squeezes once, firmly.

"It's all right, Adora," Professor Darking says. "Breathe in and out with me. It's all right. I didn't mean to frighten you. You're not in any trouble, you know. It's not your fault if Catra is missing."

"That's not what I'm afraid of," Adora mutters wretchedly.

Professor Darking pauses and frowns at Adora. She looks like she's deep in thought about something. When Adora stays determinedly silent, the professor puts one palm to her forehead and then sighs suddenly, a frustrated exhale that sounds too loud in the small space. "Let's say, hypothetically, that a mutual friend of ours is missing," she says. "And, hypothetically, perhaps there's some concern about that friend...leaving of her own volition?"

"What does that mean?" Adora asks in a small voice.

"That means...doing something because you want to do it. Running away out of your own free will."

"That sounds like it would get that person into a lot of trouble," Adora says slowly.

"Yes." Professor Darking pauses again, for one, two long breaths. "If she were caught."

Adora jerks her gaze up and stares at Professor Darking, arrested.

"We talked about Stanley together," Professor Darking says, with a tired but genuine smile. "I think you know my views on keeping someone captive against their will. If you are worried that Catra has run away and will be hurt if she is found, then I trust your judgment, Adora."

"It feels treasonous," Adora mumbles, too afraid to even say the word too loud.

"Being part of the Horde does not mean that you give up your right to free thought," Professor Darking says firmly. "I want you to remember that, Adora, all right? It's good to question. Blind loyalty benefits only the leader."

Adora manages to eke out a nod even though she's not sure she fully understands what Professor Darking is saying. She can't possibly be enouraging Adora to be...disloyal, can she?

"But it sounds like you're not totally sure where Catra has gone off to," the professor continues. "Or if she has run away at all."

"I've looked everywhere," Adora says, finally giving in. "I don't know where she could be, if she hasn't run away. I've checked every corner of the compound!"

"...I might be able to help with that," Professor Darking says. "If you are sure that you want to find her."

"I just want to make sure she's safe," Adora whispers. It must be the right answer, because the professor smiles.

Within moments, Professor Darking has set up a strange structure on the floor, creating a small clearing by kicking away the upturned books and pens and other debris. She spreads out a detailed map of the compound on the ground and lights one single candle. When she asks for an item belonging to Catra, Adora is able to provide a whole handful of dark hairs that have stuck to different parts of her uniform.

"Are you doing magic?" Adora asks, voice still hushed. "I didn't know we had another sorceress in the Horde!"

"It's not widely known," Professor Darking answers. "And I wouldn't really call myself a sorceress--I can only do simple location spells like this one, most of the time. I am a cartographer, after all."

"And this will show us where Catra is?"

"It will show us her location if she's still in the compound," Professor Darking corrects her. "My power reserves are quite small, and I have to place limits on my location spells if I want them to work properly. And--well. If she's not in the compound any longer, I think that will give you your answer, even if it's not in the form you want."

The thought makes Adora's stomach lurch, but she has to agree. One way or another, she'll have an answer. And it's got to be better than not knowing.

"I'll need to concentrate for this next part," Professor Darking says, voice strained. And then she picks up one strand of Catra's dark hair and feeds it to the candle flame. It flickers, briefly, then burns a deep, steady blue. Professor Darking immediately slams both hands down onto the map, face screwing up with effort. The entire map of the compound suddenly explodes with light, the lines outlining each room and pathway illuminating with that same deep blue glow. Adora watches, transfixed, as several dots of coruscating white light begin to roam around the blue lines, like they're chasing down their target. After a few more moments, the dots converge to a single location, and Professor Darking exhales all her breath at once. The candle and lights on the map all go out, except for that single white dot, still glowing brightly in the same spot.

"That's where she is?" Adora asks excitedly.

"It appears so," Professor Darking says. "That took a bit more out of me than I expected--you've taken her all over the compound, huh? There were traces of her in nearly every wing."

"I knew she wouldn't have left me without saying good-bye," Adora says, hardly listening to what Professor Darking is saying. She bends over the map herself, trying to read the small words next to the white dot.

"It looks like she's in the older wing," Professor Darking says. "The wing reserved for foot soldiers, the ones fighting on the front lines who came back today. Maybe she met one of them--"

"No, no," Adora interrupts distractedly. "That's the Honorable Hordin's room! That's who she's been going to for lessons. Although I don't know why she would be with him--class has been cancelled for the next week--I have to go!" she says in a jumble. "Thank you, Professor Darking!"

"Go with the speed of the First Ones," the professor says. She looks happy, but there's something almost rueful about the twist of her mouth.

"Oh, and good luck with your mission!" Adora says, blushing for having nearly forgotten the professor's own duties, the ones she put on hold to help Adora. "Are you leaving right away?"

"As soon as I can," Professor Darking responds.

"Stay safe, okay?" Adora says. And then, on impulse, she closes the distance between herself and the professor and throws her arms around her waist. "Thank you for helping me. And for--for understanding."

After a beat of frozen surprise, Professor Darking's arms come up to circle Adora back. A brief touch is here and gone again on Adora's head. "It was my pleasure. Truly." She hugs Adora tight, but the pressure doesn't feel suffocating. It feels warm, and soothing, and safe. "I'll miss you. Remember what I said, okay? You've got a good head on your shoulders. Don't let anyone keep you from using it."

Adora steps back from the embrace and looks up at Professor Darking shyly. "A--all right, Professor." As she walks back to the door to let herself out, she looks back at the professor one last time. The woman is standing in the center of the room, arms crossed around her middle, hugging herself loosely. Watching her go. "I'll see you soon, right?"

"Right," Professor Darking says.

After the door closes behind her, Adora lets herself break out into a run. Her legs are pumping as fast as they can, but they can't keep up with the speed of the thoughts racing through her head. Catra didn't leave, her mind shouts at her on loop. She's still here! She didn't go without saying good-bye. She might even stay...forever.

As she nears the older wing, Adora needs to slow down by necessity. This part of the compound is much more crowded, with the foot soldiers that Professor Darking referenced hanging around in the halls, still carrying glasses and bottles of the red liquid. They're loud and raucous and in no way inclined to move out of the way of a sprinting child, so Adora adjusts her pace to a jog after several soldiers yell at her to "slow her roll."

At the same time, the feelings of exultation and relief also begin to fade. Something about this doesn't seem quite right. Why would Catra go to the Honorable Hordin's personal room? And stay there for so long? When Adora finally reaches the door, she's in a part of the wing that's emptier, and she pauses to think instead of knocking right away. Before announcing her presence, it might be good to investigate a little bit first. Gingerly, she places her ear on the wood of the door to see if she can hear anything.

There's a low chanting coming from inside the room, but the voice is too deep to be Catra's. If Adora focuses really hard, she thinks she can hear some kind of muffled hissing. It's so faint, though, that she's not sure if she's just imagining things. The only way to find out is to open the door. So Adora raises her hand and gives three emphatic raps on the Honorable Hordin's door, loud enough to echo down the hall.

"Hello? Honorable Hordin?" Adora yells out, not bothering to keep her voice down.

This time, when she puts her ear to the door, she can hear a distinct yowl, and the chanting breaks off for a man to utter an angry curse.

"What's going on in there?" Adora shouts. "Open the door! Please!" she adds after a second when it just feels too wrong to be yelling at a teacher. But Professor Darking's words return to the forefront of her mind--It's good to question, and you've got a good head on your shoulders. Adora straightens her shoulders from where she had been curled into herself, tentative and nervous. She does have a good head on her shoulders. And investigating abnormal events is the duty of any Horde soldier. Getting to the bottom of this is the only way to...maintain order.

Adora staunchly ignores the fact that even she doesn't find that explanation convincing. It doesn't matter. What matters is that Catra is almost certainly behind that door, and she sounds like she's in trouble. Pushing aside any thought about consequences or potential punishments, Adora grabs for the door knob and attempts to turn it. It's locked, and as Adora examines it more closely, she can see that it's an old-fashioned locking mechanism. There's no keypad, only a hole. From behind the door, the sound of the chanting becomes louder and more frenzied, as though the Honorable Hordin is rushing to finish something. But as far as Adora can tell, the chanting is just gibberish.

As she stares at the door knob, stymied, she notices that there's a chip missing from the door frame. Like something, or someone, has clawed at it. She's almost positive that wasn't there before. And now that she's studying the door frame, more things jump out at her. Scratches to the wall right next to the frame, starting from two feet out. Like someone has dragged their claws against the wall while they were being carried. And--Adora's heart plummets to her feet--there are several brown splotches on the floor. Exactly the color of dried blood.

"Open the door!" Adora screams, banging on the wood with everything she's got. The door rattles in its frame, but doesn't give way. "Open it right now!" She can hear a muffled, answering scream from inside, and she calls out, "Catra, I'm coming! It's going to be okay!"

"Hey, can you keep it down? Some of us are trying to sleep," says a man poking his head out from a room a few doors down.

Adora swings her head in that direction, gobsmacked. "What? Do you not realize--"

"Come on, kid, you should show us some respect. We're war heroes, y'know. Didn't you hear old Hordak today?" he asks, and offers her a grin.

"You're a soldier!" Adora says, realization clicking into place in her mind.

"Uh, yeah," the man says, and then, "Whoa, you can't come in here!"

"You're a soldier! You have a gun, don't you?" Adora asks while barrelling past him. The room smells musty after years of disuse, and the man has dumped all his gear into a pile on the floor. Very sloppy, and completely against the weaponry handling guidelines in the textbook, but in this situation, it is very helpful.

"You're what, five years old? I ain't giving you a gun!" he yelps.

"Don't worry, you're not giving it to me," Adora says, fishing out the gun triumphantly. "I'm taking it."

"Hold on, just wait one second," the man says, but she's already out the door and running.

Ignoring his protests, Adora raises the rifle to her shoulder and takes aim.

"Kid!" the man yells.

"My name," Adora shouts, "is Adora! And I am NOT five years old!" And then she fires squarely at the locking mechanism on Hordin's door. The kickback from the shot is much stronger than the training guns, and she stumbles back several feet before she regains her balance. But it worked--the lock is smoking, and the door is slightly ajar.

Before Hordin can take any counter-measures, Adora dashes forward and sets her shoulder against the door, forcing it completely open. When she sees what's in the room, the rifle drops from her nerveless fingers.

A tiny, cramped cage sits in the corner of the room, and Catra has been tied up and crammed inside, with a gag in her mouth. She's bleeding from several cuts on her arms, and the entire side of her face is swelling up purple and black. But her eyes are still flashing fury, and Adora can't look away from them as she rushes forward.

"Catra," she chokes out and falls to her knees in front of the cage. It's been padlocked shut, and Adora reaches back around herself to grab the gun to shoot it open. But her fingers touch only air.

"Young children shouldn't be allowed to play with guns," the Honorable Hordin bites out, his skeletal fingers clutching the rifle securely.

"Let Catra go!" Adora stands up to face him head-on, heedless of the gun.

"You are not going to ruin this for me," Hordin snarls. "All my months of careful planning, watching, waiting. Well, the wait has come to an end. I must act now, or forever lose my opportunity!"

"What are you even talking about--You're crazy," Adora breathes. There's a manic, fervent gleam in his red eyes, and Adora can't help but be shaken even though she's trying to present a brave front.

"Am I? True genius does sometimes come hand-in-hand with extraordinary mental states, which lesser people deem insanity," the Honorable Hordin says, sneering. "Now get away from the beast, or perhaps you can act as my trial run."

For the first time, Adora's eyes shoot to the work table directly behind Hordin's stooped frame. There are several vials of a dark ruby substance. Blood. And in the middle of the table is a thin, silver scalpel. It looks like it's almost glowing, reflecting the flames of the banked fire behind it. A rusted cauldon bubbles away busily on the fire, letting out plumes of black smoke regularly.

Suddenly, Hordin lunges forward, and Adora screams, forgetting everything she's learned in a blind panic. One of her hands catches him in the eye, and he grunts, but manages to wrestle her other arm behind her and clap a hand over her mouth. Desperate, Adora bites down as hard as she can, and sickeningly, feels a distinct crunch as her teeth punch down. The Honorable Hordin all but howls as he releases her and staggers away, cradling his hand to his chest.

Adora doesn't take her eyes off of him as she grabs ahold of the cage and, abandoning any efforts at trying to open the padlock, simply tries to lug it bodily away. If she can just get Catra through the door and to safety--

"Ooookay. Oh, wow. I did not drink enough to handle this."

Adora and Hordin both jerk their heads up at the unexpected intrusion. The soldier whose gun Adora took is standing in the door, clad in a uniform shirt and pajama pants and looking very confused.

"I thought the drama was supposed to be over when I left the war zone," he mutters to himself, and scratches his stomach.

"Call Shadow Weaver!" Adora screams at him. "Please! We need help! He's trying to--trying to kill Catra!"

The man looks bemused and like he's still not taking this anywhere near as seriously as he should be, but he at least brings his communication device to his mouth. Slowly, but he does it.

"Kevin to command center," he says into the mouthpiece. "We've got, um, a situation in the East Wing. Room, ah, 540. Send security, will you? And--" he glances at Adora, shrugs, and very visibly gives up. "Bring Shadow Weaver, too, if she's available. There's a kid here asking for her."

"No! No, you can't do this!" Hordin gasps out, and he staggers over to Adora, hands like claws reaching out.

Adora hears her own sharp intake of breath as she tries to dodge while dragging Catra in the cage along with her. She has her eyes screwed shut, shoulders hunched defensively to protect herself, but the expected impact never comes. Slowly, she reopens her eyes. The man has the Honorable Hordin in a seemingly effortless headlock. Using his other hand, he scratches his stomach again. "No attacking kids, man," he says. "At least, not if they haven't done anything to deserve it."

"You--imbecile--" the Honorable Hordin spits out as he struggles fruitlessly.

"Look, this girl seems a little trigger-happy, but you're the one who has a kid in a cage. I mean, I'll be honest, I've never read the Horde rulebook cover to cover, but seems like that's probably a no-no," the man--Kevin--says.

"Where's the key?" Adora says, deciding to ignore his rambling commentary.

Casually, Kevin pats Hordin down with one hand while the man wriggles and flails. "Key-ring in the belt. Classic," he says, and then tosses the key to Adora.

In the blink of an eye, Adora has wrestled the padlock open and, grabbing the scalpel from the table, begins to saw Catra's bindings open.

"Are you okay?" she asks when Catra's gag is removed. She can't seem to stop running her hands over Catra, ghosting over her head and shoulders and legs, obsessively checking over every inch.

"Out," Catra says, her voice a dry croak.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" Adora says, and gets out of the way so that Catra can climb out of the cage. She's favoring her left leg, and Adora quickly puts an arm around her so that she can lean against Adora.

"'Dora," Catra says, low.

"Yeah?" Adora says immediately.

But Catra only repeats, "'Dora," and rests her head on Adora's shoulder. A rush of protectiveness and blinding, debilitating gratitude goes through Adora, and she squeezes her arm around Catra.

"I've got you," she whispers. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner."

After a few minutes, the sound of more footsteps approaching echoes down the hall.

"Adora, bring Catra to the infirmary immediately."

Adora has never been so glad to hear Shadow Weaver's sharp tones, without slurred words or strange, disturbing anecdotes. Shadow Weaver sounds like she's back to normal, although Adora notices that she does seem to be listing slightly to the right.

"Hordin, I won't pretend to know what in Lord Hordak's name you were thinking. But it doesn't matter. You can explain yourself to our Lord directly. Guards, restrain him with the energy cuffs," Shadow Weaver orders.

Hordin sags in Kevin's grip, like he knows he's been defeated. But a stubborn scowl crosses over his face, and he growls, "You despicable parasite. It's all your fault. You poisoned his mind against me, you stole my secrets, my powers--"

Shadow Weaver waves a hand, and Hordin's jaw snaps shut. When she notices Adora and Catra staring, she snaps, "Infirmary, Adora. Don't make me say it again."

"Yes, Shadow Weaver," Adora says quickly. While Adora carefully supports Catra, they hobble their way out of the room. But as they are about to leave, Shadow Weaver stops Adora with one hand to her shoulder.

"You will be expected to testify to these events," Shadow Weaver says. "Lord Hordak plans to call a special tribunal, likely later tonight. I will send a messenger to the infirmary to summon you when you are needed."

"I understand," Adora says, even though she doesn't. What is a tribunal? And if what Shadow Weaver needs is someone to explain what happened, wouldn't Catra be a better person for that? She's the one it all happened to. But she knows better than to voice any of her doubts now. Instead, she settles Catra's arm more firmly across her shoulders, and continues the long trek to the infirmary.

Chapter Text

The call comes maybe an hour later. Another winged boy comes flying into the infirmary where Adora and Catra are sitting side-by-side on a bed. Adora isn't sure if she's the one who refused to let go, or if it was Catra, but either way, they kept their hands laced together despite the annoyed clucking of the nurses while they treated her. Catra has a sprained ankle, several "deep-tissue contusions" up her side and face, and deep cuts on her arm, where the Honorable Hordin had been collecting blood. Catra's all bandaged up now, smelling strongly of medicinal salves and astringent disinfectant, but Adora keeps a running tallies of all the injuries in her head. She wants to remember to check them each day like the nurses instructed them.

For her part, Catra keeps wrinkling her nose and attempting to push the bandages off. The only way Adora has been able to effectively stop her is by taking her other hand, too, so that they now have both hands laced together, making one full circle, lying awkwardly between them. Or, it should feel awkward, but it mostly just feels nice. Catra has lapsed back into silence, but Adora is pretty sure the physical contact is just as soothing to her, too. She keeps rubbing her thumbs over Adora's knuckles, like she's reassuring herself that Adora is still there.

When the winged boy comes careening in, he almost slams straight into the foot of the bed and has to pump his wings furiously to veer off and bring himself to a stop. Then, pretending like nothing happened, he straightens himself importantly and announces, "Adora, Ward of Shadow Weaver, is hereby summoned to testify regarding the alleged crimes of the Honorable Hordin before the Special Tribunal. The Special Tribunal will convene in fifteen minutes. Failure to appear will result in a finding of contempt, subject to a minimum penalty of fifteen days imprisonment."

Adora blinks at him. "What does contempt mean?"

The boy sneers at her and, instead of replying, beats his little wings faster to turn around and begin flying out of the infirmary.

"Hey, wait!" Adora calls. "Where am I even supposed to go?"

"The throne room!" the boy shouts without looking back. Adora suspects that she hears a faint, "dummy! " tacked on at the end.

"Ugh," Adora says. "Okay. Well." She shoots a glance at Catra, whose brow is furrowed with worry. "Do you want to come with me?" she asks hopefully.

Catra's ears swivel almost all the way back, until they're pinned against her head, but she doesn't shake her head. Neither does she nod.

"You don't have to come," Adora says after a moment. "You know what--you should just stay here and rest. I'll be back soon, okay?"

When she tries to let go of Catra's hands, the other girl just tightens her grip. Her lower lip juts out in an obstinate pout.

"Catra?" Adora asks.

In response, Catra growls and shoves her lightly, off the bed, and then continues nudging her until she starts walking.

"You're coming with me, then?" Adora checks.

"Duh," Catra says grumpily. Adora tries to keep her grin from taking over her entire face, and together they limp down the hallways to the throne room. Adora's not totally sure what "testifying" involves, and she hates the thought of needing to confront the Honorable Hordin again after she's almost positive he tried to kill both her and Catra. But with Catra's hand in hers, the terror abates to a manageable level. Whatever this tribunal is, she can face it a little bit better with Catra at her side.

Even accounting for Catra's injuries, the walk to the throne room ends way before Adora is ready. Their footsteps echo in the large room now that it's almost completely emptied of people, and Catra's grip on her hand tightens until it's painful. Their fingers are slick and clammy with nervous sweat, though Adora's not sure who the sweat is coming from. Probably both of them.

Two uniformed officers stand by the entrance of the throne room, and another two flank the Honorable Hordin, who Adora is viciously glad to see has been wrapped head to toe in chains. Lord Hordak is again sitting on his throne on the raised dais, with Shadow Weaver stationed at his right shoulder. When Shadow Weaver catches sight of them entering the room, she frowns.

"The summons applied only to you, Adora," she says.

"Now, now," Lord Hordak interrupts. "She did well to bring the child in question. The majority of the Honorable Hordin's alleged crimes were committed against the girl, were they not? She could provide a critical perspective to these proceedings."

"Thank you, my lord," Adora says. Well, she tries to say it, but all that comes out is a croak. So instead she just nods, anxiously, probably a few more times than necessary.

"As the Lord and Supreme Commander of the Evil Horde, I call this tribunal to order," Lord Hordak intones in a deep, carrying voice. The winged boy from before tolls his bell. "I serve as head judge and exercise plenary power over its judgments. All judgments are final, and there is no right to appeal. However, you do have the right to request counsel. Honorable Hordin, do you choose to exercise your right to request counsel at this time?"

"Yes!" Hordin shouts hoarsely. "Yes, I do!"

"Request denied," Lord Hordak says smoothly. "Onto the charges. Honorable Hordin, you are accused of kidnapping, assault, and theft of Horde assets. Do you understand the charges as they have been read to you?"

One of the guards flanking the Honorable Hordin jabs him until he grits out, "Yes."

"I call the first witness to the stand: Adora, Ward of Shadow Weaver." When Lord Hordak turns to Adora expectantly, she gives a start. What now? In a panic, she looks first at the dais, then the glowering Hordin, then down at herself, and then back at the dais.

"Approach the throne, Adora," Shadow Weaver barks out.

"Yes! Yes, I'm sorry!" Adora squeaks. When Adora walks over, Catra dogs her footsteps, and it's just less effort to go up to the dais together instead of making Catra stay behind. She tries very hard to ignore the air of disapproval emanating from Shadow Weaver.

"Please describe the events of tonight to the best of your memory," Lord Hordak tells her.

"During the victory celebrations, Catra went back to our rooms early because the noise was hurting her ears but when I went to our rooms afterward I couldn't find her so I looked all over the Fright Zone and then I remembered that she might have gone to see Professor Darking because I took her there one time when I borrowed some maps to study for my next evaluation and when I went Catra wasn't there, but Professor Darking did a location spell and found Catra for me," Adora says all in one breath, and then gulps in another giant inhale to continue, only then Lord Hordak holds up a hand.

"Catra is the girl?" he asks.

Adora nods, eyes huge. "That's her name, my lord."

"And...Professor Darking assisted you," Lord Hordak says.

"Yes...?" Adora responds, unsure. "She did a spell."

"In her office? At what time?" Shadow Weaver says in a hard voice.

"I--I'm sorry, I'm not totally sure--It was some time after I left you at the victory celebrations, and before I went to the Honorable Hordin's room. But it took me some time to get his door open, and then it took more time for the guards to come..."

"Useless," Shadow Weaver bites out, and Adora flinches. "Did she say anything to you?"

"I--what do you mean--"

"Enough, Shadow Weaver," Lord Hordak says. "Your tenacity is, as ever, appreciated. But Darking is long gone."

"Right," Adora says, finally feeling like she's back on firm ground. "She's on that mission for you."

Lord Hordak smiles at her thinly. "Is that what the professor said to you? A clever fabrication, one that just skirts the edge of truth. She is on a mission. But not, unfortunately, for me."

Adora blinks and shuffles closer to Catra, seeking comfort. "I don't understand."

"She is the reason this special tribunal experienced a small delay. When Shadow Weaver brought the news to me, I was already handling a crisis of a different kind. It appears that our dear Professor Darking is a long-term sleeper agent, embedded by the Rebellion into our ranks. Upon news of the Rebellion's fall, she quite presciently fled the premises. Along with several valuable pieces of Horde intelligence."

At some point in Lord Hordak's explanation, Adora's mouth has fallen open. It can't be true. It just can't be. Adora thinks back to the feel of Professor Darking's arms around her, the gentle squeeze of her embrace, the soft barely perceptible touch of lips to Adora's head. No. No. Adora realizes she's shaking her head in disbelief only when Catra jerks at their joined hands, and she comes back to herself just in time to hear Shadow Weaver demand, "Do you know anything about where she was going?"

"She--she said something about the border," Adora stammers. "But I just can't--"

"Whatever she said to Adora is of zero or negative value to us," Lord Hordak steps in. "She would almost certainly have been lying. Regardless, it will all be a moot point soon enough. With the size of the search party that has been sent out, I expect that she will be captured and executed before dawn." He smiles the same, thin smile. "Now, Adora. You said that the traitor professor cast a spell of some kind?"

Adora stares up at Lord Hordak, stomach churning, and has to clear her throat twice before talking. "Y-yes. She told me, um, that it was a location spell. I gave her some of, of Catra's hairs, and then the spell lit up the section of the compound where Catra was. It was the Honorable Hordin's room, so I said--I said good-bye to Professor Darking, and then I left."

"And?" Lord Hordak prompts.

"When I got there, the door was locked. But I could hear sounds coming from inside, and I noticed that there was blood on the floor. I was worried that Catra was in danger, so I, ah, borrowed a gun from a nearby soldier, and shot the lock open. When I got inside, I saw Catra tied up in a cage, so I tried to get her free, but the Honorable Hordin got control of the gun and attacked me. I was able to injure his hand, and he retreated. That was when Kevin came in," Adora finishes, and points to the soldier. He has changed out of his pajamas and is now sitting blearily off to the side. When she points, he raises one hand and sketches off a messy salute.

"Thank you, Adora," Lord Hordak says, and then, to Adora's profound relief, he moves on.

The rest of the tribunal passes in a blur. It goes so smoothly that it almost feels like a play, Lord Hordak waving each actor forward to say their part. Shadow Weaver describes what she saw at the scene when she arrived, and then Kevin gives his own rambling account, but he thankfully glosses over the part where Adora stole his gun. Afterwards, he blinks one eye at Adora like some kind of strange muscle twitch. Through it all, Adora listens with only half an ear. None of it's new to her--she did live through it all only a few hours ago--and so she's free to digest these revelations about Professor Darking.

The initial, kneejerk reaction of disbelief has faded, and Adora feverishly runs through all of her interactions with Professor Darking, looking for clues, strange behavior, anything that Adora should have seen and realized earlier. And she comes up with... Everything.

Everything was weird. Every single thing Professor Darking ever said to her, even from the very beginning. She was kind and undisciplined and encouraging, telling Adora to think for herself and engage in disobedience when necessary. Now that Adora is looking for the pattern, it's staring her straight in the face, so obvious that any idiot should have been able to tell. Almost every remark Professor Darking said to her was the polar opposite of what everyone else in the Horde had told her before. Yes, Catra is a person and deserves respect. Yes, even animals shouldn't be kept in captivity against their will. Yes, it's okay if Adora stammers sometimes, or can't breathe quite right when she's nervous. Yes, Adora doesn't need to be perfect all the time, and she is worthy even when she makes mistakes. 

Yes, Adora should question the Horde's authority when she feels in her heart that it's wrong.

But all along, Adora should have been questioning her instead.

The worst part, Adora thinks, is how much she wanted to fall for it. Even now. The sweet words, the patience and calm and protectiveness. All of it was a lie. Professor Darking took advantage of how hungry she was for that kindness, and twisted it all around to try to set Adora against the only home she's ever known. The past few weeks, Adora has been confusing love for hate. If that isn't proof the princesses are evil, Adora doesn't know what is.

I'll miss you. No one has ever said that to Adora before, and she hates how the memory of the words still sends a warm glow through her chest even though she knows now they were said by a traitor. There's no use for it. She has to be strong and unaffected like a good Horde soldier. All she needs to know, all that matters, is that Professor Darking is a traitor, and a liar. So Adora holds on to that knowledge like a knife cutting open her insides and she shoves away the memory of the kind words and all the other ones like it, as hard as she can, forcefully cramming them down into a box in the corner of her mind that she never wants to open again. And if Adora feels like a piece of her heart is breaking, well--it's just the shock. Adora will get used to it eventually. She always does.

The bell tolls once more, and Adora jolts, gratefully, out of her thoughts. Lord Hordak is eyeing the Honorable Hordin, and he clears his throat before stating, "The special tribunal has finished presenting its witnesses. Honorable Hordin, you have the right to speak in your own defense. Do you choose to exercise that right?"

"I do!" the Honorable Hordin rasps. "I am innocent of all but the third charge of theft, and even that can be mitigated as a temporary indiscretion. A breach of bureaucratic protocol rather than a substantive crime."

"I fail to follow," Lord Hordak says. "The testimony we just heard provided several eyewitness accounts of you committing exactly those three crimes. Do you contest their credibility?"

"I do not!" the Honorable Hordin responds. "But I do contest their premise."

"In what way?" Lord Hordak raises his eyebrow, looking intrigued. Adora can't understand, fully, what their back-and-forth is about, but she's beginning to get a very bad feeling in her gut.

"Kidnapping and assault both require a victim," the Honorable Hordin says. He has regained some color in his cheeks, and he stands up straighter, pronouncing the next several words with relish: "Here, that element of the crimes is absent. There is no human victim who has been harmed by my actions, merely a...temporarily misplaced asset."

Adora gasps, and beside her, she can feel Catra vibrating with barely suppressed emotion. The tips of Catra's claws dig slightly into Adora's palm, but she ignores it and merely tries to squeeze back, reassuringly.

"I would like to introduce Exhibit 1 into evidence," the Honorable Hordin continues. One of his guards obligingly carries a piece of paper to the dais, and the winged boy delivers the papers into Lord Hordak's hands. "As you can see, I submitted the following Asset Designation form to the command center almost two months ago. The form gave the beast a designation of N3477, which as you know, places it squarely into the category of non-sentient assets. Things like weapons, beasts of burden, other objects. After normal processing times, the form was summarily approved a few weeks ago. So you see, the beast is recognized by the Horde itself as an object rather than a sentient being, against whom crimes such as kidnapping and assault could not actually be committed."

"You note that the girl displays no sign of human intelligence," Lord Hordak says, reading the form over. "You write that it is mute and dumb, unable to understand the most basic of commands unless physical force is used. It is a slave to its brute-like animal instincts and exhibits no desire or capacity to better itself."

Catra lets out a low, wounded noise, too quiet for anyone but Adora to overhear.

"It's true!" the Honorable Hordin says, confidence growing in his voice. "As further proof, I enter into evidence Exhibits 2 through 10, my weekly reports on the beast's progress. Or lack of progress, I should say, despite my most diligent efforts to educate it. These reports were submitted through official channels to the senior leadership in charge of overseeing this asset...Shadow Weaver."

They go through the same process of handing over the exhibit, this time a thick sheaf of papers that the winged boy struggles to balance before flying, unsteadily, to Lord Hordak. Rather than reading through the entire pile, he flips through the first several pages, and then the last several pages, looking thoughtful.

Then he turns to Shadow Weaver. "Is this true?" he asks.

"I did receive these reports," Shadow Weaver says. "I can confirm that the contents are generally as he described."

At this, Adora can't contain herself any longer. Striding up to the dais, pulling a stumbling Catra along beside her, Adora shouts, "He's lying! Those reports are lies! Catra isn't stupid at all! She can talk and reason and understand things better than--better than Hordin can!"

"Contain yourself," Shadow Weaver shouts, as the winged boy tolls the bell simultaneously, looking at once both annoyed and smug.

"This is a tribunal, not a free-for-all. You will speak only when specifically called upon to do so. Perhaps it was a mistake to allow such a young child to participate," Lord Hordak says. The look of displeasure on his face makes Adora shrink away, paling.

"I think Shadow Weaver's ward has adequately demonstrated her lack of objectivity as a witness," the Honorable Hordin says, an oily smile on his face. "She is hysterical. With my decades of teaching experience, I can sadly say that this state of affairs was very predictable. Young children who have not received adequate suppression training fall prey to over-active imaginations. They believe what they want to believe, rather than what is actually true. And the close bonds she has formed with the asset have obviously impaired her judgment."

"You may be correct," Lord Hordak says slowly.

Nearly sputtering with outrage, Adora stares in disbelief at the Honorable Hordin, then Lord Hordak, and finally Shadow Weaver, who makes no moves to defend Adora. They look like they're actually being won over by this argument. Adora grits her teeth and squares her shoulders. This is not how this is going to end, with Hordin getting off scot-free for hurting and nearly killing Catra. Not if Adora can do anything about it. She opens her mouth, thinks better of it, and shuts it again, and then, out of sheer frustration, she raises her hand like she's in a classroom.

"Yes, Adora?" Lord Hordak drawls. 

"I have proof, too," Adora says carefully, trying to making her words all fancy like the Honorable Hordin had. "I have ex--exhibits. I took notes every week about Catra's progress, and I submitted my reports to Shadow Weaver just like the Honorable Hordin did! They're in my room, but I--I can go get them--"

"Noted, but unnecessary," Lord Hordak says. "While your diligence in maintaining records is to be commended, the accused is correct in identifying your likely prejudice. Your reports would be tainted with the same suspicions, and cannot be admitted as evidence."

"But he's wrong," Adora tries to say, but somehow nothing comes out of her mouth. She clears her throat as loudly as she can, but there's only silence. Hand pressed to her throat, she tries several more times, and each time, no matter how hard she tries, she can't make any sound at all. Her heart sinks, and she shoots a look up at Shadow Weaver. Standing on the dais, Shadow Weaver meets her gaze with a hard, satisfied glare. When Adora opens her mouth again, Shadow Weaver gives an angry shake of her head.

Panicking for real this time, Adora turns to Catra, who only stares back at her with wide, frightened eyes. Her hand is trembling in Adora's own, and she's slouching into herself, making her body as small as she can while still standing. She looks like she wants to be anywhere but here, and for a moment, Adora wishes violently that she hadn't asked Catra to come. Not to be forced to watch this...joke of a trial and be able to do nothing, absolutely nothing, to stop it.

"We do have one witness who has not yet spoken," Lord Hordak says, breaking the silence. "And her testimony could kill two princesses with one bullet, as the saying goes. If the asset, as alleged, can think and reason and communicate on a human level, then we shall give her the opportunity to prove it."

"You must be joking," the Honorable Hordin blurts out.

"Must I, uncle?" Lord Hordak says calmly.

"This is unprecedented! Allowing an N-classified asset to testify in a tribunal--"

Lord Hordak gestures to Shadow Weaver, and with a wave of her hand, the Honorable Hordin is rendered silent as well. Adora lets herself feel deeply, meanly glad about this, even though she tests out her own throat and still can't say anything.

"I call a fourth witness to the stand: N3477, alias Catra," Lord Hordak intones.

Catra doesn't move until Adora shoves her forward, and together they take stumbling steps powered mostly by Adora's strength and sheer will. Catra isn't quite digging her heels in, but each step is a struggle, and the closer they get to the dais, the worse her trembling gets.

"It's okay," Adora mouths at her. "It's all going to be okay."

Catra gives no sign of being able to read Adora's lips. Either that, or she just doesn't believe Adora. When they finally reach the foot of the dais, Catra has started up a low, rattling growl, and she is swiveling her head back and forth like she's looking for an escape. Adora tries to squeeze her hand, reassuringly, but Catra doesn't seem to notice it at all. Every bit of her attention is focused on Lord Hordak, who is smiling down at her like he's found a particularly interesting puzzle.

"Please state your name for the record," Lord Hordak says.

In response, Catra snarls. Watching her vibrate with anger and fear, Adora's own chest begins to feel tight. Catra can't fail this test. Punishing Hordin is one thing, but this could be her only opportunity to prove that she doesn't deserve the non-sentient label. If all she does is growl and hiss, Lord Hordak will believe all of Hordin's lies. He'll treat her like an asset, just another weapon with an inconvenient heartbeat. He'll take her out of classes, because there's no use teaching something that will never learn. He'll give her to people in the Horde who will grind her down until she really will just be an animal, lashing out scared and confused every minute of her life.

"My lord, this is a waste of time," Shadow Weaver is saying, but Adora tunes her out.

She jerks on Catra's hand until Catra turns to face Adora, reluctantly, their eyes slowly meeting. Gently, she puts her unoccupied hand on Catra's head--she has to go up a little bit on her tiptoes to reach easily--and runs her fingers through Catra's hair. It feels ridiculous, petting Catra in front of Lord Hordak and Shadow Weaver and half a dozen guards in the middle of the throne room, but Adora mentally thrusts them all away and focuses only on Catra. She stares into those tear-bright blue and yellow eyes, and wills Catra to do the same.

Against all odds, it's working. Adora breathes in long and deep, and Catra matches her inhalations to hers, in and out, in and out. She can feel Catra begin to lose tension in her muscles, and the growling slowly comes to a stop.

"Please," Adora whispers. "Please." It comes out only as a puff of air, but Catra is watching her unwaveringly. Adora thinks, deep in her heart, that she understands.

"State your name for the record," Lord Hordak repeats himself. "I will not ask again."

Adora watches Catra, her own anxiety rising to a fever-high pitch. She holds her breath as Catra looks back at Lord Hordak and exhales harshly, nostrils flaring. Please, Adora prays.

Just as Lord Hordak moves to end the questioning, he is interrupted.

Shaking but emphatic, Catra says, "Catra." And then again, "Catra. My...name."

Adora nearly collapses into a puddle of relief on the floor. On Lord Hordak's face, a slow, genuinely pleased smile is spreading. Shadow Weaver, on the other hand, looks like she's just bitten into an expired anchovy ration bar.

"Please describe the events of tonight to the best of your memory," Lord Hordak says.

"Hordin," Catra says, pointing directly at the man. He doesn't even have the courage to look at her in the eyes, dropping his gaze to the floor. "Take me. Go...inside room. Hurt me. Hit me," she says, pointing at her head, and "cut me," pointing at her arms. "Put in...box."

Each word is slow and halting, but Lord Hordak doesn't attempt to rush her or cut her off. To the contrary, he looks fascinated.

"And?" he prompts.

"'Dora come," Catra says, and smiles for the first time since coming into the throne room. "Help me. Hit Hordin."

"Thank you, Catra," Lord Hordak says. "That is sufficient."

"Welcome," Catra says, and Adora doesn't think she's imagining the smugness in her tone. Catra's shoulders have straightened back out, and she's standing tall and confident. Her hand has loosened its death grip on Adora's fingers, but Adora squeezes her hand reassuringly all the same, trying to convey how relieved and happy and proud she is.

If Hordin was pale before, he's white as a sheet now. "A performance!" he says, falteringly. "Like a trained parrot. Nothing more than fraudulent mimicry."

Adora immediately opens her mouth to try to protest, but she doesn't need to say anything--Lord Hordak is already shaking his head.

"N3477--Catra's testimony is both credible and clear," he says. At his words, Catra's chest puffs out slightly. "Her account mirrors the testimony given by the other three witnesses. There is no doubt regarding your guilt. Honorable Hordin, you are hereby convicted on all three counts."

The winged boy rings the bell, looking bored.

"No!" Honorable Hordin gasps out.

Lord Hordak continues speaking, indifferent. "We move on to the sentencing," he says. "Honorable Hordin, you may present any mitigating factors for this tribunal to consider when determining your punishment."

"I had just cause," the Honorable Hordin insists. "It was all in your name, to crown you with even greater glory in the aftermath of this victory! What is but one beast's life measured against the good of the many?"

Lord Hordak raises an eyebrow. "Continue," he says. "How were your crimes in service of the regime?"

"I had it all planned out," the Honorable Hordin responds, speaking so quickly that Adora is having difficulty understanding him. "The blood of the wildling, to steal its youth, the sinew to take its strength, the heart to devour its spirit--These ancient rituals would have re-made me anew. I would have been unstoppable by your side! I would have risen once more through the ranks; no longer discarded amidst the dregs of the lowliest of foot soldiers, but at your right hand once again to add my power to yours and lift you up as the undisputed lord over all Etheria. To achieve your dreams, the secret burning desires that I know you have carried from your youth--my boy, that was my only aim."

"Enough. You speak of unsubstantiated myths. Wildlings are no more than a figment of the imagination, relied upon in older times to succor empty stomachs and minds," Lord Hordak says, his tone brooking no room for argument.

"It's the truth!" the Honorable Hordin shouts hoarsely, and even when the guards jab at him, he continues undeterred, "I've documented the process and its applications in my notes! Ask your second! Ask Shadow Weaver! "

From her position directly in front of the dais, Adora can see Shadow Weaver's eyes widen, tellingly. But she is standing behind Lord Hordak, who does not turn his head to look at her.

"Hordin has grown superstitious in his old age," Shadow Weaver says after a few moments. "I'm afraid I haven't the faintest idea what he's babbling about."

"No! You lie! You lie!" The old man screams again and again, hysteria beginning to overcome him, and he scrabbles at the arms of the guards that rise up to restrain him. For just a single breath, Adora feels a tiny bit sorry for him. He looks like a rat caught in a trap, one of the fat ones that like to run around in the compound, just starting to realize that he is well and truly captured and trying frenziedly to escape. Not realizing that it is already too late, and has been for a long time.

"Silence," Lord Hordak snaps. "Even if your excuses were true, they cannot mitigate the depravity of your crimes. Only a few weeks ago I personally assured the Kingdom of the Scorpion that under my protection, hybrids would meet with equal treatment and dignity. With your reckless and pointless actions, you have attempted to make me a liar. Treason of this order cannot be condoned. Using my authority as head judge of this tribunal, I sentence you to execution. At first light. Guards, take him away."

"No!" Hordin howls. He looks truly crazed now, red eyes popping out of their sockets and spittle flying from his mouth. "You can't do this to me! I am your uncle! You were named after me!  You cannot forsake your own blood--I was only trying to reclaim my rightful place at your side. This is all her doing! This parasite who poisoned you against me, hurled me down the ranks so that she could attach herself to you in my stead and greedily suck away at your power. You must listen to me!"

Adora watches, open-mouthed, as the guards drag Hordin away. Their path takes them within several feet of Adora and Catra, and a few flecks of spit land on her uniform. Her emotions are all tangled up inside of her--she feels at once relieved and sad, repulsed and frightened.

"Good-bye, uncle," Lord Hordak says with a wry twist of his mouth.

"Senility is so sad to see once it takes root," Shadow Weaver tags on. She has her hands laced together tightly in front of her as she stands rigidly upright.

But Lord Hordak says sharply, "Mind your tongue," and she falls silent again. "He has outlived his usefulness," Lord Hordak continues. "His death serves the cause of the Horde."

"Of course, my lord," Shadow Weaver says.

Adora glances sideways at Catra, to see her looking back. Catra raises one eyebrow as if to ask, is it finally over?  Adora raises both eyebrows back: How am I supposed to know?  It's probably over. The accused has been dragged away to be put to death, and Adora feels unsettled but also savagely glad at the prospect. At least with Hordin dead, he won't be able to infect anyone else with his lunacy about killing so-called wildlings to get a power boost. No one Adora has ever known has been executed before--it was always unfamiliar names and shadowy faces--and she doesn't quite know how to wrap her mind around it. But she does know that Catra is safer with him dead. So she can't feel too upset about it.

The other guards begin filing out of the throne room, so Adora files along a little bit behind them, pulling Catra along and trying not to attract any attention. They're almost to the door when Lord Hordak tells them to stop. At the sound of his voice, Adora instantly freezes.

"Adora and...Catra. You have not yet been dismissed. Return to the dais," Lord Hordak orders.

Hiding the reluctance from her face, Adora obediently walks back. Instead of trailing behind her, Catra walks at Adora's side, even almost a little ahead of her, with quick and purposeful strides. The fear from before seems to be completely erased from her face, and she meets Lord Hordak's gaze head-on. Her eyes are bright and curious; she looks like she's weighing something in her mind and finding the result favorable.

"Adora, I understand that your evaluation was postponed by our precipitous departure for the front," Lord Hordak says.

"Yes, but it's fine--that is--I've had more time to study," Adora bumbles. "I'm ready now, of course!"

"Your patience is admirable," Lord Hordak says. "A fine example of my second precept."

Out of nowhere, Catra pipes up, "Loyalty to Horde." She has her chin sticking out, almost defiantly, as she recites the first part of the precept. Adora stares at Catra with wide, disbelieving eyes, then pinches herself to make sure she's awake.

"Above all material attachments," Lord Hordak finishes. He gifts Catra with a small smile. "Very good, Catra."

There's no other word for it--Catra preens, standing up straighter and letting a smug smirk lift the corner of her mouth. "'Dora teach," Catra says. "Not Hordin."

"Evidently," Lord Hordak murmurs. "Adora, I'm afraid I must cancel your evaluation."

"What?" Adora gasps. "What did I--what did I do--"

"Don't question your lord," Shadow Weaver says harshly.

"I am cancelling your evaluation because it has become clear to me that it is unnecessary," Lord Hordak says over Shadow Weaver. "You have exhibited courage, wisdom, and an invaluable ability to think on your feet even in the most unconventional of circumstances. I am impressed by your progress, Adora, which was no doubt hastened by Shadow Weaver's careful tutelage."

"Indeed," Shadow Weaver murmurs, pivoting deftly.

"You are?" Adora asks in a small voice. All of her insides are coiled tight, braced and waiting for the catch, for the other shoe to fall. Any second now, he'll laugh and mock her for being so gullible. Desperately, Adora squashes down the tiny tendrils of hope trying to curl upward in her belly. "But I...broke the rules."

"A good Horde soldier follows all the rules," Lord Hordak concedes, and Adora shuts her eyes in humiliation. "But a great Horde soldier follows her instincts when the rules would constrain service to the cause," he continues.

Adora's eyes fly back open. Lord Hordak is looking at her with...pride, and satisfaction, and genuine happiness. Her lips part, just slightly, in wonder.

"At the first sign of Catra's disappearance, you sprang into action. You called upon all available resources and managed to manipulate an enemy agent into doing your bidding even as she attempted to flee. And you managed to hold off Hordin, a man decades older and much stronger than you, until help could arrive. In so doing, you have preserved a priceless Horde asset, a treasure that Hordin himself did not identify as such despite all his machinations," Lord Hordak says. "But you did."

With every word, Adora feels herself unfurling like a sunflower toward the light, all the anxieties and horrors of the past several hours gently sloughing away. Lord Hordak recognizes what she did as an accomplishment and thinks she is smart and capable and worthy. Her. Adora.

"I did good?" Adora says, helpless to keep herself from checking just one last time.

"You did," Lord Hordak confirms. "Which is why I am granting you admission to the cadet academy, a full two years ahead of schedule. You will be the youngest admit in, perhaps, the academy's entire history."

Adora gasps again, this time in pure exhilaration. And she can't stop the gasp from turning into a little not-quite-suppressed sob--the emotions are too strong, too sudden, for her to control. She feels like joy is springing out of her fingertips like static electricity, and she is holding onto Catra's hand way too tightly, but the other girl doesn't seem to mind. She can't be understanding more than a few words out of each sentence, but she's in tune with Adora, like she always is, and she's grinning widely even as Adora gives in and hides her face against Catra's shoulder.

"Thank you for this show of your favor, my lord," Shadow Weaver says. "I am proud of my charge and all that she has achieved under my guiding hand."

Adora screws her eyes shut and truly sobs into Catra's sleeve. When she can take a few steady breaths again, she forces herself to wipe the snot away and address Lord Hordak again.

"Thank you, my lord," she says waveringly. "You don't know what this means to me. Thank you."

"I have every faith we will see great things from you, Adora," Lord Hordak says, his eyes shining with a strange, intense light. "You may move into the academy dormitories at your first convenience."

"What of the girl?" Shadow Weaver asks suddenly. "Catra? She requires a minder--she cannot live alone with me; my duties are too numerous and time-consuming to--"

"Relax, Shadow Weaver," Lord Hordak says. He looks amused, for some reason. "I see no reason why Catra should be separated from Adora, especially in light of today's events. The dormitory has more than enough room to house two small girls, and Adora can continue to train Catra in her spare time. We will need to arrange a new teacher for Catra, of course, given her previous teacher's demise...Shadow Weaver, review the teaching roster and propose a suitable replacement, will you? To start after the holiday."

"Yes, my lord," Shadow Weaver says in visible relief. Adora can't blame her--the very same emotion is rolling through her and making her almost dizzy with happiness. She hadn't even dared to imagine that Catra could come with her to the academy, and she had already been making plans in her head to split her time between the academy and Catra's training, but now she doesn't have to...They'll be together. Always.

"And Catra," Lord Hordak says. Catra straightens up at the mention of her name. "You have exceeded all my expectations since you came to be with us. Your transformation into a strong and insightful student of reason is...spectacular. By your presence in the Horde, you alone provide living testimony to the wisdom of my decision to champion hybrid equality. In an environment like the Horde, you will thrive and continue proving the naysayers wrong and, eventually..." His voice drops down to a whisper, but it's somehow no less compelling than a shout. "You will rise above them. Will you not?"

Catra looks like she's been struck dumb by a rock, and Adora worries for a moment that the over-abundance of big words has rendered her speechless. They haven't gone over any of those vocabulary words, so it's not Catra's fault, but Lord Hordak doesn't know that.

Finally Catra breathes out one long breath, and her shoulders sag down like a weight has fallen away. She lifts her chin back up, eyes blazing, and answers.

"Yes...Lord."

The words float into the air like a prayer.

*     *     *

The bad place isn't so bad anymore. She has ample food to fill her belly, many posts to sharpen her claws, and space enough to stretch out and run. She has coverings that fit her body and a warm place to sleep and a plan for the future to become strong, fast, unbeatable. She has a name, gifted to her by the girl with the softest heart and dumbest head in the Fright Zone, the one they call Adora who Catra would follow to the ends of the world and, in the meantime, at least into the fold of the Horde.

It is all part, Catra thinks, of becoming human. Adora would object to this description, she knows. Adora with her endless words and straightforward thoughts, who is at once the most human of everyone Catra knows and yet the least duplicitous. Adora says she has been human all along, and that everyone else is only catching up to what they already knew. She says that Catra has not changed, fundamentally, only grown and learned and improved. Catra was never an animal, in Adora's eyes. She was only a girl who had been lost, for a little time, in the wild.

Catra knows better than that. No matter the tales that Adora likes to spin, a fundamental shift has taken place within Catra since she was trapped in the Horde. Her entire way of thinking has changed, giving way under the inexorable force of violent necessity. In the Before, Catra had no plans. She had very little conception of time at all, so planning for the future beyond the change of the seasons would have been foolish. She only lived from the first day to the next. When she had a successful hunt, she was happy. When she, more often, missed her prey or fell out of a tree or been shat on by a bird, then she was sad. She did not care about right or wrong or good or bad or any of the twisting, constantly changing ideologies humans told themselves to justify conflict. She cared only about the hunger gnawing at her insides and the cold biting at her flesh.

The only emotion that Catra can now identify as truly human in the Before was loneliness. Even in the earliest of days, where her memory is faltering and foggy, she can remember the deep ache in her chest of being alone. Alone is more than just not having "friends," as humans like to say. It is about lacking warmth and support and love. It is the feeling of absence, of knowing for a fact that when you reach out in the darkness, there will be no hand reaching back.

In the Horde, there is no more loneliness. There is only Adora, by her side at almost all hours, talking a million words a minute and making so much noise that a passing predator would likely have bitten her head off in the wild--not for the sustenance, but for the quiet. She is the one who tells Catra about the Horde's beliefs, about what words like equality mean, about why their mission is tattooed so bone-deep in Adora's soul. She is the one who tells Catra that there is such a thing called justice, and all "good" humans must strive for it.

Catra doesn't know much about being good. She only knows, when Adora turns those big blue guileless eyes on her, that she wants to be good for so long as Adora keeps looking at her like that. Faith, Catra is quickly learning, is almost as restrictive as the physical cage Hordin stuffed her in. But this cage is gilded with gold and affection and many, many anchovy bars, and Catra can't find it in herself to resist.

So in the dark of night, when Catra can't sleep, she reaches out.

And Adora always, always reaches back.

She pulls Catra into her bunk and covers Catra with her own blanket, soft hands bracketing her in and cocooning Catra in warmth. She pets Catra's hair and whispers in Catra's ears, talking like she always is because that, Catra is learning, is how Adora needs to express her love. She weaves stories, careful to be quiet so as not to disturb the other young students in the dormitory, about the past and the future and all the times in between.

She says, "There once was a girl and her best friend who was captured by the enemy. But the girl loved her best friend, and the best friend loved the girl, so they fought a horrible monster together and defeated him forever, and everyone called them heroes,"

and

"It might be hard now, but when they find out what you can do, they'll be so surprised their mouths will fall open and they'll drool like big dummies. Everyone will realize how stupid they were, and they'll be sorry. You can beat them all in hand-to-hand combat--with one hand tied behind your back, even!--and I am so proud that you're my friend,"

and

"We will be the youngest Force captains in the history of the Horde. That's a promise. You and me, it's us against the world. We'll prove them all wrong, and then we'll be happy together forever."

Catra doesn't really understand what a Force captain is, and she doesn't care that much about making history. But she listens to Adora's promises all the same, tucks them somewhere safe in her heart where she won't ever forget, and only then can she sleep to the rhythm of Adora's heartbeat.

It's a little ironic, maybe, that Catra found a pack only after she left the wild and became human. It's certainly not what she was expecting when she first found herself inside the compound, frightened and overpowered and wanting more than anything to escape. But she has a feeling now, deep in her gut, that this was always how things were supposed to work out. They were meant to find each other. At the end of the day, Catra has a pack now, she's got the best packmate in the whole world, and she's not ever giving it up.

She has Adora, and Adora has her, and it's just how Adora likes to say: Together, they can do anything.

Catra can't wait.

End.