“This is more than premium. This is...” I trail off, unable to find words that capture the magnitude of what he's done. Equipment like this doesn't get purchased on a whim; it requires contacts and leverage and resources that most people don't own.
He has them. He used them. For the investigation, I tell myself. For his enforcers. Not for me.
“Can you work with it?”
“Yes.” I unpack the first case. “This changes everything. With this equipment, I can identify the compound within days instead of weeks, maybe hours if the molecular signature is distinct enough.”
He doesn't leave. I expected him to, now that the equipment has arrived and the access is granted and the pieces are in place. There's no practical reason for him to stand in my medical bay and watch me calibrate analysis arrays, but he watches anyway, and the morning unfolds in a rhythm I don't expect.
I work; he shadows. I ask questions about compound security and personnel access and supply chain vulnerabilities; he answers with a candor that surprises me. The formality of our earlier interactions begins to crack, revealing partnership. Possibly. If monsters have partners.
“You're staring at that screen like it personally offended you.”
His words pull me out of the data spiral I've been drowning in for the past hour, and when I blink and refocus on the present, I find him closer than he was before. When did he move? I didn't hear him move. Seven feet of muscle and menace crossed rooms like smoke. Dangerous.
“It's not giving me what I need.” I gesture at the preliminary analysis. “The compound is sophisticated. Engineered. Not something someone could synthesize in a home lab.”
“Which means?”
“Which means the killer has access to advanced pharmaceutical equipment and manufacturing facilities. Resources that most people on Vahiri don't have.” I turn to face him, and he's close, too close, close enough that temperature radiates off him in waves. “How many facilities on Vahiri have the capability to engineer a compound like this?”
“Three. House Zhael's intelligence labs, the Syndicate's central medical facility, and House Draven's own pharmaceutical division.” A muscle tightens in his jaw. “The pharmaceutical division reports to my father. I don't have direct oversight.”
“Would your father...”
“No.” The denial comes immediate and absolute. “This isn't sanctioned. If my father wanted someone eliminated, he wouldn't use poison. He wouldn't need to.”
The certainty in his words speaks to violence I can only imagine. House Draven's reputation wasn't built on subtlety; if they want someone dead, they want the death noticed.
“Then someone inside House Draven is using your father's resources to kill your enforcers.” I turn back to the analysis because looking at his face while I say the rest feels dangerous. “Someone close. Someone trusted.”
The silence stretches before he answers.
“A traitor.”
The word hangs between us. A traitor inside House Draven. Someone close enough to know patrol schedules and target high-value enforcers. Someone patient enough to make four separate murders look like accidents.
“I'll need personnel records if you want me to look into who might be responsible. Everyone with access to the pharmaceutical division who would know enforcer schedules and medical procedures.”
“That's a broad list.”
“Narrow it for me.” I meet his gaze and hold it despite the intensity pressing against my skin. “Who has the capability and the access? Who benefits from weakening House Draven's enforcement arm?”
He's quiet for a long moment, processing possibilities I cannot see, the silver of his eyes catching the medical bay's lighting and reflecting it back in fractured patterns.
“I'll get you the records.”
“Tonight?”
“Now.” He pauses at the threshold and turns. “Have you eaten?”
The question catches me off guard. “What?”
“Food. Sustenance. The thing humans require to maintain function.” There it is again, that ghost of expression transforming his features, the corner of his mouth curving in an almost-smile that sends a cascade of sensation through me. “You've been working for five hours. You forgot.”
I did forget. “I'll eat later.”
“You'll eat now.” He disappears through the door before I can protest, and I'm left standing in the medical bay wondering when captors started treating property this way.
