When he heard the name Chandler, Harry's brow furrowed.
He glanced at the sparrow cat sprawled before him, its two wings broken from his earlier strike. He wanted to reach down and grab it but hesitated.
'What if this creature is poisonous?' He pulled his hand back.
"Follow me. Try any tricks, and I'll make sure you're the first in line for cremation tomorrow morning."
The sparrow cat drooped its ears, slinking after Harry with a downcast expression, dragging its feet like a prisoner. After all, it wasn't new to tracking Harry—it knew he could make good on his threat with just a word.
—
Back in the living room, Harry sat on a chair, gripping the steel bar he'd used to thrash the creature. The sparrow cat followed him, dejectedly plodding inside.
With both wings broken, it knew escaping was futile, and even if it could still fly, it doubted it could get away from him.
"Now," Harry began, "what exactly are you?"
