Reconnaissance. That's what I tell myself. Learning the terrain, identifying resources, mapping the boundaries of my new existence. The fact that motion keeps the fear from settling into my bones is incidental.
The corridors of the private wing hold fewer guards than the main compound, more staff moving with focused purpose and no interest in the new human wandering their halls. I keep my pace unhurried, my expression neutral, the posture of belonging rather than boundary-testing.
Two guards at a junction, voices low but not low enough. I catch fragments as I pass.
“—Korvan making moves on the lower markets again. Third shipment they've intercepted this month.”
“Lord Draven won't let that stand. Last time Korvan pushed, we lost four enforcers clearing their people out of Sector Eight.”
“That was before my time.”
“Count yourself lucky.” The first guard notices me watching and his jaw tightens. The conversation dies. Neither speaks again until I'm past the junction and around the corner.
House Korvan. Territory disputes. Sector Eight. Names and conflicts that mean nothing to me now but might matter later. On Vahiri Prime, knowledge is currency, and I've learned to hoard what I can.
Red panels mark the first restricted area, as Teshra described. No guards visible, but the faint hum of electronics suggests the door itself handles security. Automated systems. Traceable. Logged.
The medical bay sits on the east side of the wing, its entrance marked with the universal symbol for healing. I stand outside the transparent wall and inventory what's visible through the glass. Three beds. Full monitoring equipment. A surgical suite through an interior window. Well-equipped by Vahiri standards, but the gaps announce themselves to my trained eye. No portable trauma kit. Limited xenobiology references. Supplies organized for routine treatment rather than emergency response.
A Draveki female in logistics colors passes me in the corridor, her arms full of supply manifests, her athletic build moving with purpose. She glances at me without slowing, eyes tracking me until she disappears around the corner. My attention snags on a scar at her neck, wondering how an injury like that occurred. I cannot decide whether the look held curiosity or assessment.
Improvements for the med bay suggest themselves, professional instinct overriding the distance I'm supposed to be maintaining. Better equipment, proper organization, functionality for the kind of injuries an enforcer house must encounter. I could turn this into an actual medical facility rather than the mediocre imitation behind the glass.
I turn away from the window before the thought can root deeper. Tomorrow. The medical bay is tomorrow's problem. Tonight is still about learning the shape of the cage.
The common area opens into a natural alcove in the canyon rock, furnished with seating designed for Draveki frames rather than human ones. I'm crossing through it when the awareness hits, a prickle at the back of my neck that means I'm being watched.
A male is leaning against the far wall with the boneless ease of someone who's been waiting and doesn't care if I notice. Charcoal skin, silver eyes catching the light. Draveki, clearly, but different from Drazex. Leaner. More silver threading through his coloring. Restless energy radiating from him in waves, a coiled spring pretending to be relaxed. Unlike Drazex’s contained stillness, this male exhibits motion that is barely suppressed.
“So you're my brother's new pet.” Ah. Brother. “How's that working out for you?”
I stop walking and wait. Combat taught me to hold steady under worse provocations than one smug Draveki male fishing for a reaction. The grin curving his mouth shows the tips of his fangs. His posture screams deliberate casualness, suggesting he has infinite time and zero concern about outcomes.
He's testing me. The read is clear in the way his eyes track every microexpression, searching for cracks in my composure. I'll give him none.
“Better than being your brother's actual brother, apparently.”
Genuine surprise flickers across his features before he can mask it, transforming his face from predatory to almost boyish for half a breath.
“Oh, I like you.” And there's genuine pleasure underneath the performance now. “This is going to be fun.”
No movement closer. No retreat. Nothing to work with. “We haven’t been introduced, have we?”
“Samai Draven.” He pushes off the wall and saunters toward me. “The younger one. The less impressive one. The one nobody bothers to warn visitors about because I'm not considered a serious threat.”
Bitterness lives underneath the lightness. Faint enough to miss if I weren't listening for it.
“And yet you're here, waiting to ambush the new property.”
“Ambush is such a strong word.” He stops a few feet away, still grinning, that metallic gaze holding more sharpness than his posture suggests. “I prefer to think of it as welcoming you to the family.”
“With an insult as my introduction.”
“Would you have preferred insincerity?” His head tilts, and the movement is similar to his brother's. “I might have smiled and told you how wonderful it is for you to be here, how much we all appreciate your sacrifice, how impressed everyone is by your bravery. Would that be better?”
“It would be a lie.”
“Exactly.” The grin softens into actual interest. “I don't bother with lies. Too much work to maintain. You're property now. Legally and practically. My brother may do whatever he wants with you, and no one on this planet would blink.”
