"Noah."
The name felt solid in his mouth, like a stone he could hold onto in a hurricane. He wasn't just Pet Human #42. He was Noah. He was a builder. He was a father.
He clutched the wooden Ark to his chest, shielding it from the returning drizzle. The fog on the beach was swirling, thick and suffocating, twisting into shapes that looked like grasping hands.
If I'm here, he thought, his eyes narrowing at the invisible horizon, then she must be here too. Mr. Purr-sident... he must have her. That's why he wants these things. He's taunting me. He's keeping her as a pet, just like me.
"I told you not to wander far, hairless."
Noah spun around. Mittens was sitting on top of a large piece of driftwood, his one good ear twitching with irritation. The street cat looked different out here in the fog—less like a scruffy alley cat and more like a jagged shadow with eyes. His fur was spiked with moisture, and his gaze was uncharacteristically serious.
"I know who I am, Mittens," Noah said, his voice rough with emotion.
"Congratulations," Mittens drawled, jumping down into the wet sand with a wet thump. "You figured out your label. Does that make the kibble taste any better? Does it make the bars on the window disappear?"
"It makes me want to break the bowl," Noah snapped. "My daughter... Katy. She's here, isn't she? In this city."
Mittens froze. He looked at Noah, then at the Ark, then back at Noah's face. For a second, there was genuine pity in the cat's green eyes. "You really are in the Deep now, aren't you?"
"The Deep?"
"The edge of the litter box," Mittens said, gesturing to the endless grey fog. "This is where the city ends and the... other stuff begins. The stuff the Purr-sident tries to pave over. You found your name, great. But listen to me, Noah. If you go back to the Palace acting like a man instead of a pet, the Purr-sident will have you sedated so fast you won't even feel the needle. You'll wake up drooling in the kennel, and 'Noah' will be gone forever."
Noah tightened his grip on the Ark. The memory of the Lady in White—Catherine—and her "candy" flashed in his mind. The sweet taste of oblivion. "He wants to keep me asleep."
"He wants to keep you safe," Mittens corrected, though his tone suggested safety was a relative term. "Or maybe he just wants to keep you quiet. Listen to me. If you want to find your... kitten... you need to play the game. You can't walk in there looking like a revolutionary. You need to look like a good boy who fetched the stick."
Mittens walked closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"You have the Ring. You have the Boat. But the list had three slots for today, didn't it? You go back with only two, he asks questions. He probes. And trust me, you don't want him probing inside your head."
Noah looked down the beach. A pile of debris was washing up on the shore—cargo from a ship that never sailed.
"One more item," Noah realized.
"One more," Mittens agreed. "Find it. Then put on your mask, wag your nonexistent tail, and lie through your teeth. It's the only way you'll survive long enough to find her."