**Caz's POV**
The world blurred into a streak of streetlights and rain-slicked asphalt as Boris's truck rumbled down the highway, engine growling like an angry beast. Ava and I huddled under the back seats, crammed into the narrow space behind the driver's side, our tiny bodies pressed together amid the clutter of empty beer cans, crumpled fast-food wrappers, and the faint stench of stale cigarettes. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that matched the thump of tires over potholes. How the hell had we ended up here?
It started in the chaos back at the house. While the grown-ups yelled and snarled—Mommy's voice sharp with anger, Auntie Akira lunging like a wildcat—I'd seen Boris drag Grandma Lilly (had to be her, with those matching black cat ears) toward the door. The gun in his hand gleamed like a promise of bad things. Ava had been right beside me on the couch, babbling innocently, but I grabbed her tiny paw and whispered, "Come. Hide." She'd blinked those big golden eyes but followed without a fuss—for once, no endless "how?" or poking my tail. We toddled fast as our chubby legs allowed, slipping out the front door in the confusion, the adults too focused on the fight to notice two kits vanishing into the twilight. I boosted Ava into the truck's open back door (Boris had left it cracked in his haste), then hauled myself up after her. We dove under the seats just as the engine roared to life.
Now, hours into the drive, Ava was actually focused—ears perked, tail still, golden eyes wide but steady as she peered through a tiny gap in the seat fabric. No giggling, no messing around. To be fair, I'd dragged her into this mess, but she hadn't complained once. Maybe the reincarnation thing made us both tougher than we looked. Or maybe she was just scared shitless, like me.
Up front, Boris muttered to himself in Bulgarian, voice low and gravelly over the hum of the radio static. "Ще се забавлявам с теб преди да те предам, котенце. Малко забавление преди голямата заплата." (Gonna have some fun with you before I drop you off, kitty. A little fun before the big payout.) His laugh was ugly, wet, like something crawling out of a drain.
Lilly's voice cracked from the passenger seat, desperate and pleading. "Не—моля те, не. Просто ме предай. Не трябва да—" (No—please, no. Just turn me in. You don't have to—)
A sharp smack echoed—flesh on flesh—and Lilly yelped, the sound cutting off into a whimper. I peeked through the gap, heart twisting: Boris's free hand groped at her thigh, squeezing hard enough to make her flinch, while the other gripped the wheel. She swatted at him weakly, tail thrashing against the door, but he just laughed again, swerving the truck slightly as he leaned over.
"Quiet, bitch," he growled in Bulgarian, the words dripping with menace. "Or I make it hurt more."
Ava's tiny claws dug into my arm, her breath hot against my ear. "Bad man," she whispered, voice barely audible.
I nodded, mind racing. What to do? We were two-year-olds—reincarnated adults in kit bodies, sure, but still tiny, weak, no claws worth shit. Jump out? We'd splatter on the road. Yell? He'd find us and… God knows. Memorize the route? Signs flashed by—highway markers, town names in Cyrillic and English: Sofia outskirts fading, then Plovdiv signs looming. We were heading east, maybe toward the border. I filed it away: exits, billboards, a gas station with a red roof. Anything to get back home.
The truck slowed after what felt like forever, tires crunching on gravel. Engine cut. Doors slammed. I risked another peek: Boris yanked Lilly out, pistol jammed into her ribs. "Move, or I shoot. Your choice."
She stumbled, ears flat, tail limp, begging in a whisper. "Please… no…"
He shoved her toward a flickering neon sign: "Motel Paradise"—a rundown dump on the highway edge, rooms like sad boxes under a buzzing light. It was getting late; stars pricked the sky, the air cooling through the cracked window. Boris dragged her to a door—room 7—unlocked it with a key from the office, and shoved her inside. The door thudded shut.
Ava tugged my sleeve. "Now?"
I shook my head, whispering. "Wait. Sleep here. Memorize everything—signs, roads, motel name. We'll find way home."
She nodded, curling against me. The truck was cold, but her warmth helped. I stared at the ceiling liner, mind whirling with plans. James the electrician would've hot-wired something by now. Caz the kit? Had to be smarter. We'd escape. Somehow.
**[Reducted] POV**
The house was a whirlwind of panic, the air thick with fear and the coppery scent of Akira's blood. She sat on the couch, pressing a kitchen towel to her temple, the fabric already staining red where Boris's pistol had cracked her skull. Her black cat ears drooped, golden eyes dazed but furious. Miko paced the living room like a caged animal, tail lashing wildly, claws extended as she muttered curses under her breath. I stood frozen by the window, staring at the empty street where Boris's truck had vanished, my mind replaying the chaos: the gun, the betrayal, Lilly's desperate pleas.
"The twins—gone," Miko choked out, voice breaking as she collapsed against my chest. Hot tears soaked my shirt, her body shaking with sobs. "Caz… Ava… our babies. What if he—what if they're—"
I wrapped my arms around her, holding tight, but my own heart felt like it was being crushed in a vise. "We'll find them. We have to."
Akira winced, adjusting the towel, blood trickling down her cheek. "Where would he go? East? To the border? He's Bulgarian—maybe back to some safehouse. Or Interpol drop point. Think—did he ever mention places? Contacts?"
I shook my head, frustration boiling over. "No. Nothing specific. And it's not like when you were kidnapped, Miko—no ransom note, no taunts about a location. Boris didn't say shit about where he was headed. Just grabbed her and ran. Money is money, the bastard said. This is different—colder. He's got a payout waiting somewhere."
Miko pulled back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, ears pinned flat. "We call the police? Friends? Victor—maybe he knows something about Boris's haunts."
Akira nodded weakly. "Start there. But hurry. They could be anywhere by now."
The room spun with dread. Our family—shattered in minutes. I grabbed my phone, fingers trembling. We'd search every road if we had to. But where to even begin?