The way he looked at Lenna—not with curiosity or mild interest, but with something that felt almost like... fear.
No. Not quite fear. Something adjacent to it. Recognition, maybe, but laced with wariness.
It doesn't make sense. Damiros has never met her before. I'm certain of it. And even if he had, there's no reason a human laborer would provoke that kind of reaction from him.
Unless—
I cut the thought off before it can fully form. Speculation without data is useless. Whatever Damiros saw, or thought he saw, he's clearly not interested in discussing it. Pressing the issue will only make him close down further.
Still, I can't shake the wrongness of it. The way his entire demeanor shifted for just a fraction of a second before he regained control.
"Malrec."
I blink, realizing Damiros has been speaking. "What?"
"I asked if you've finalized Vexris's containment protocols for transport." His tone is patient, but there's an edge beneath it. He knows I wasn't listening.
"Not yet. I'll have it ready by the end of the week."
"Good." He nods once, then turns toward the exit corridor. "I'll leave you to it, then. Send the roster when it's complete."
He's already walking away, his stride measured and unhurried, giving no indication that anything unusual just occurred.
But I know my brother.
And I know when he's lying.
5
LENNA
Ilove the stables in a way I probably shouldn't.
Not the oppressive heat that clings to my skin like a second layer, or the sulfurous air that makes my eyes water after too many hours down here. Not the constant awareness that one wrong move could result in dismemberment, or the way the containment wards hum at a frequency that makes my teeth ache.
But the beasts themselves? They make sense to me in a way nothing else in this place does.
They don't pretend. Don't dissemble. When Vexris is pissed off, she slams into her containment barrier until the wards flare. When Khorvas wants attention, he huffs and scrapes his claws against the stone until someone acknowledges him. There's no subtext, no hidden meanings, no careful navigation of hierarchies I'll never fully understand.
Just honest, straightforward communication through action.
Unlike the demon who runs this entire operation.
Malrec has been particularly unbearable this morning. I can feel his presence like a storm front moving through the walkways—heavy, oppressive, making everything around himtense and reactive. The beasts pick up on it immediately. Vexris is pacing in tight circles, her tail lashing against the barrier with enough force to make the wards spark. Khorvas won't settle, keeps rearing back from his feeding station like something's spooked him. Even Sythrak, who's usually calm enough to almost seem docile, is restless, shifting his weight and growling low in his throat.
The entire stable feels charged with something volatile.
And at the center of it all is Malrec, moving through the enclosures like a contained explosion looking for an excuse to detonate.
He's been at this for the past hour—checking containment fields with more force than necessary, adjusting ward configurations that don't need adjusting, barking corrections at me for things that aren't actually wrong. I've learned to read his moods by now, unfortunately. This isn't his usual brand of controlled irritation. This is something sharper, more unstable.
Which means I need to stay out of his way.
I focus on my tasks, moving efficiently through the morning routine. Clean the walkways. Check the feeding stations. Ensure all tools are properly stored and accounted for. Simple, straightforward work that should keep me invisible.
Except Malrec seems determined to make that impossible today.
"These tools are filthy."
