She kneels slowly, the cold floor pressing through her coat, and extends her hand toward the fox — palm up, fingers loose, the way she once learned keeps still things calm. Ember Fox watches her without blinking, those amber eyes luminous in the dark. A long moment passes. Then it takes one careful step forward, and another, closing half the distance between them. She can see its white-tipped tail now, held low but not quite tucked. It stops just beyond reach and lowers its muzzle toward her outstretched fingers, nostrils flaring. The dripping from deeper in the dark grows slightly louder, or perhaps she only notices it now that she has gone still. The fox's eyes flick past her hand to something behind her — once, quickly — then settle back on her face. Whatever it saw, it does not retreat. It simply waits, as though the next move is hers.