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SOMETIMES I swear I hear somebody scratching on the walls down here...

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I fear the worst: Grimer.

 

I turn to find only Ives—pawing, restless, bloodthirsty.

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It is Beethoven who keeps him at bay. Always Beethoven.

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The other two have sweetened some but you can tell they’re constantly waiting for the balance to shift. For the alpha to show some momentary lapse in weakness, or get sick and leave me unguarded for a jot.

The scales of collective survival perpetually tipped in a sliding state.

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Luckily for me, and I’m not sure why, Beethoven never leaves my side.

 

Even when he steps away to squirt a smear of yellow on the wall, he has his eyes leveled on his kind the whole time, as if to warn:

The dainty human is not to be touched.

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