"She's the one?"
"Yes."
"Took long enough."
"She was gathering her things."
The taller demon grunts, a sound that suggests he finds the concept of 'gathering things' beneath his concern, and gestures toward the archway. "Fine. Let's go. Virex doesn't like waiting."
I follow without comment, my grip tightening slightly on the strap of my bag. The shift from one escort to another is seamless, impersonal, and I'm reminded once again how little agency I have in any of this. I'm cargo being transferred from one holding to another, and the only thing that matters is that I arrive intact and ready to work.
The walk continues, and the estate slowly falls away behind us. We pass through transitional corridors that grow progressively rougher, the smooth stone giving way to more jagged volcanic rock. The temperature rises incrementally, and the faint glow of magma veins becomes visible in the walls, pulsing with a dull, rhythmic light that feels almost organic.
I've been to the edges of the volcanic ridge before, but never this far. The air here tastes different—thicker, heavier, with an acrid bite that clings to the back of my throat. My skin prickles with heat, and I can feel sweat beginning to bead along my hairline.
The taller demon doesn't slow his pace, and I match his stride without complaint. My legs burn slightly from the exertion, but I've learned to ignore discomfort. Pain is just information. It tells you where your limits are, and then you decide whether to respect them or push through.
I push through.
The corridor finally opens into a wider space, and I catch my first real glimpse of the Virex estate. It rises from the ridge like something carved by pressure rather than design—layered, angular, and unforgiving. The structure is built from black stone that gleams faintly in the low light, veined with dark iron that seems to pulse with residual heat. It doesn't look like a home. It looks like a fortress designed to contain something dangerous.
"Keep up," the demon says, his voice flat.
I adjust my bag and follow him toward the entrance, my heart steady despite the weight of what I'm walking into.
I've survived worse.
At least, I think I have.
The demon deposits me in a narrow corridor just inside the estate's entrance and disappears without a word. I stand there for a moment, taking in the space around me—stone walls lit by amber rune-sconces, the air warmer here than outside, carrying traces of something sharp and mineral. The silence presses in from all sides, broken only by distant sounds I can't quite identify. Scraping, maybe. Or breathing.
"You're the new one."
I turn toward the voice and find another demon standing a few paces away. She's lean and compact, built for movement rather than intimidation, with black hair pulled back in a practical knot and violet eyes that assess me with the kind of precision that suggests she's already catalogued everything worth knowing. Her slate-gray skin catches the light unevenly, and her horns curve back from her temples in thick, smooth arcs.
"Yes." I shift my bag slightly. "Lenna Fentris."
"Nimae Sorell." She doesn't offer a hand or any other gesture of welcome. "Follow me. I'll show you where you'll be staying."
Her tone is clipped, efficient, and I fall into step behind her without comment. She moves through the corridors with the kind of familiarity that comes from repetition, her footsteps quick and purposeful. I study the architecture as we walk—the way the stone walls seem to absorb light rather than reflect it, the occasional fissure in the rock where heat bleeds through in faint orange lines. Everything feels designed for containment. For control.
"You've been here a while?" I ask, keeping my voice neutral.
"A few weeks." She doesn't look back. "Long enough to know how things work."
"And how do things work?"
That makes her pause. She glances over her shoulder, and there's something guarded in her expression. "You keep your head down. You do your work. You don't ask questions, and you don't draw attention to yourself."
"Understood."
"I'm serious." Her eyes narrow slightly. "This isn't like other estates. The Virex family deals with infernal beasts—creatures that will kill you without hesitation if you give them the opportunity. Most of the humans who come here don't last more than a few months. Injuries are common. Deaths happen."
"I've heard."
"Then you know to be careful." She turns and continues walking. "Especially around the stables. Only Malrec handles the beasts directly. Anyone else who tries ends up in pieces."
I file the information away, noting the way she says his name—flat, impersonal, but with a faint undercurrent of something I can't quite place. Respect, maybe. Or wariness.
