"Walk with me," Damiros says, already moving toward the stable entrance. "I want to look at the candidates before I finalize the auction roster."
I follow without argument, falling into step beside him as we cross the threshold into the cooler air of the descent corridors. The shift in temperature is immediate, almost jarring after the open heat of the pasture.
We move through the stables in silence, stopping occasionally so Damiros can observe a particular beast or ask a clarifying question about temperament or binding requirements. I answer efficiently, keeping my explanations brief. He doesn't need details, just data.
We're halfway through the main walkway when Damiros stops.
Not gradually. Not with a casual pause. He just... freezes mid-step, his entire body going still in a way that immediately sets my instincts on edge.
I follow his gaze.
Lenna.
She's at the far end of the walkway, crouched near one of the supply stations, organizing tools into their designated storage bins. Her back is to us, but I recognize the line of her shoulders, the efficient way she moves through the task without wasting motion.
Damiros doesn't move. Doesn't speak. His expression shifts—subtle, almost imperceptible unless you know what to look for—from calm neutrality to something harder to define.
Shock, maybe. Or recognition.
Then, just as quickly, it's gone. His face smooths back into its usual controlled mask, and he turns his attention to the nearest enclosure as though nothing happened.
"I didn't realize you'd brought on more help," he says, his tone casual. Too casual.
I watch him carefully. "Recent addition. She's assigned to maintenance and stall prep."
"Hmm." Damiros's gaze flicks back toward Lenna for just a fraction of a second before he looks away again. "How's she performing?"
The question feels weighted, though I can't pinpoint why. "Adequately."
"Good." He nods once, then gestures toward the next enclosure. "Shall we continue?"
We resume walking, but the ease from earlier is gone. I can feel the shift in Damiros's energy—subtle, controlled, but present. He's too still. Too measured. The kind of careful that suggests he's actively managing his reactions rather than simply existing in his baseline state.
I know my brother. I've known him my entire life. And I know when something has unsettled him, even when he's doing everything in his power to hide it.
"Dam."
He glances at me, one eyebrow raised slightly. "Yes?"
"You looked—" I pause, searching for the right word. "Surprised. When you saw her."
"Did I?" His tone is light, mildly curious, as though we're discussing the weather. "I suppose I wasn't expecting to see anyone down here. You usually prefer to work without additional personnel."
It's a reasonable explanation. Logical, even.
It's also a deflection.
I study his profile as we walk, noting the slight tension in his jaw, the way his hands remain clasped behind his back in a posture that looks relaxed but isn't. Everything about his body language reads as controlled containment.
"She's just a human," I say carefully.
"Of course." Damiros's voice doesn't waver. "I wasn't suggesting otherwise."
We reach the next enclosure, and Damiros turns his attention to the beast inside—a mid-tier infernal predator with decent lineage but unremarkable temperament. He asks a few standard questions about feeding schedules and containment requirements, and I answer on autopilot while my mind circles back to that moment.
The way Damiros froze.
The way his expression shifted before he locked it down.
