"Mmm." Damiros moves into my peripheral vision, leaning against one of the reinforced support pillars that overlook the enclosure. "Is that what you call it?"
I finally glance at him. My brother looks perfectly composed as always, his sharp features arranged in that expression of mild interest that never quite reaches his green-gold eyes. His silver hair is immaculate despite the volcanic heat that permeates the lower levels. Everything about him projects control.
Which means he's here for a reason beyond casual observation.
"What do you want, Dam?" I ask, returning my attention to Azhrael.
"A conversation." He pauses, and I can feel his gaze on me even though I'm not looking. "About the auction. About the journey back."
My hand stills against Azhrael's scales. "The acquisition was successful. The binding protocols held during transport. I see no issues requiring discussion."
"I'm not talking about the beast, Mal."
The nickname sounds wrong in his mouth. Too familiar for what we are now—brothers in biology but not in the ways that matter. Not in years.
"Then what are you talking about?" I keep my voice carefully neutral, professional. The tone I use when discussing logistics or containment protocols.
"Lenna." Damiros says it simply, without inflection.
Azhrael's rumble shifts, taking on a warning edge that makes me press my palm more firmly against his neck. Settle. He responds to the command reluctantly, subsiding into wary alertness.
"What about her?" I still don't look at my brother.
"The silence on the return journey was rather notable." Damiros's voice carries that particular quality he gets when he's choosing his words with deliberate care. "Three people in a carriage for hours, and barely a dozen words exchanged. You didn't even look at her, Malrec. Not once. Which is particularly interesting given how much you'd been watching her before."
Something cold slides down my spine. I force myself to keep stroking Azhrael's scales in steady, even movements. "She's a laborer. I watch all the staff to ensure they're performing their duties competently."
"Is that so?"
"Yes."
"And the binding ritual? Tying her signature to the containment wards so she can move freely through barriers designed to keep temporary staff contained? That's standard protocol for laborers too, I suppose?"
My jaw tightens. "Azhrael responds to her. It's more efficient to allow her direct access than to constantly adjust ward permissions."
"Efficient." Damiros repeats the word like he's testing its weight. "That's one way to describe it."
I finally turn to face him fully, pulling my hand away from Azhrael. The beast shifts behind me, clearly displeased by the interruption, but doesn't vocalize his displeasure. "If you have something to say, just say it."
Damiros studies me for a long moment. His expression hasn't changed, but something in his eyes makes my shoulders tense. It's the same look he had when he first saw Lenna in the stables—that flash of something that looked almost like fear before he masked it.
"Is everything alright, Mal?"
The question catches me off-guard. Not because it's unexpected from a brother checking on family, but because the concern in his voice sounds genuine. Real in a way that most of Damiros's expressions aren't.
I should lie. Should maintain the professional distance and insist everything is perfectly under control.
Instead, I hear myself say, "I've been having dreams."
Damiros goes very still. "Dreams?"
"Strange ones." I cross my arms, hating how exposed the admission makes me feel. "Vivid. Like memories more than typical dreams. Things that feel like they happened but couldn't have."
"What kind of things?" The question comes quickly, sharper than his previous careful tone.
I shake my head, not quite ready to voice the specific content. Not ready to admit that every dream centers on Lenna—domestic scenes of impossible intimacy, conversations we've never had, moments of connection that have no basis in our actual interactions.
"Just... moments," I say instead. "Places I've been but remember differently. Conversations that feel real but can't be. It's been getting worse since?—"
