And Damiros watches both of us with an expression that's becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. Like he knows something. Like he's waiting for something to happen.
We stop in front of a large enclosure housing what looks like a volcanic serpent—massive, coiled around heat vents with scales that shimmer between black and deep red. Malrec discusses its potential with Damiros, their conversation technical and focused.
I barely hear them.
Because standing here, in this exact spot, feels more right than anything has felt since I arrived at House Virex.
No—before that. Since I woke up in whatever life I had before the gaps in my memory. Since I became this version of myself that feels like a shell around something I can't access.
My chest aches with it. This overwhelming sense of correctness that doesn't match anything my conscious mind can explain. It's not just familiarity anymore. It's belonging. It's standing in a place I've stood before, watching beasts I've seen before, existing beside someone I've?—
I cut that thought off before it can complete, but the damage is done. My body is already responding, heat flooding throughme in waves that make my skin feel too sensitive. Too aware of Malrec's proximity, of the way he moves, of the precise tone of his voice as he discusses acquisition costs with his brother.
Everything is building. Pressure behind my eyes, in my chest, low in my stomach where want has been pooling for days now. Building until I can't think straight, can't separate what's real from what might be memory from what might be complete delusion.
And beneath all of it—cutting through the confusion and disorientation and overwhelming sensory input—is the clearest feeling I've had in my entire conscious life:
This is right.
Being here. Standing in this space. Watching Malrec assess beasts with that focused intensity while Damiros maintains careful observation of us both.
All of it feels exactly as it should be.
Even though none of it makes sense. Even though I should be terrified by how much I don't understand about my own responses. Even though every rational part of my mind is screaming that something is fundamentally wrong with the way I'm experiencing this moment.
I feel right for the first time I can remember.
And I don't know what to do with that.
Malrec says something to Damiros, then turns toward me. His ember-gold eyes find mine, and I watch his expression shift. Watch recognition flicker across his features before he suppresses it.
But I saw it. That moment where he looked at me and saw something that matched whatever is churning in my own chest.
"We should continue," Damiros says, his voice carrying an edge I haven't heard before. Almost urgent. "There are several more enclosures to assess before the formal auction begins."
Malrec holds my gaze for one more heartbeat, then nods. "Agreed."
They move forward, and I follow.
Because despite everything—despite the disorientation and confusion and growing certainty that I'm missing something fundamental about my own existence—I can't do anything else.
10
MALREC
The night air carries a sulfuric edge that does nothing to settle the restlessness crawling beneath my skin. I've been walking the perimeter of the estate grounds for the better part of an hour, my boots crunching against volcanic gravel as I try to burn off whatever this is. This agitation that's been building for weeks now, intensifying with each passing day until it feels like something living inside my chest.
The auction went well. Better than expected, actually. The Veridian House representative made a strong offer for Khorvas—fair compensation for a beast of his classification, with terms that favor long-term placement rather than speculative resale. And I identified a prime acquisition candidate in the volcanic serpent, pending final negotiation tomorrow morning. By all professional metrics, today was successful.
I should be satisfied. Focused on finalizing contracts and preparing transport logistics for the return journey.
Instead, I'm out here in the dark, trying to escape the persistent sense that I'm missing something fundamental. That there's a piece of information hovering just beyond myconscious awareness, and if I could justreachit, everything would finally make sense.
Shehas me out of sorts. I know it even as I resist acknowledging it fully.
Lenna. The human laborer who appeared at my stables weeks ago and proceeded to unravel every structural certainty I've spent years building. Who looks at Azhrael with more warmth than she's ever shown me. Who handles my beasts with instinctive precision that shouldn't be possible given her lack of formal training. Whose presence makes my chest do complicated things I have no framework for understanding.
Who I've been watching all day with an intensity that borders on obsessive.
