Damiros's voice echoes through the stable corridor, perfectly timed as always. My brother has an uncanny ability to appear exactly when I least want company.
I don't turn from Azhrael's enclosure. "I'm busy."
"I can see that." His footsteps approach with measured calm, stopping just close enough to be conversational without crowding. "How's the new rotation working out?"
"Fine."
"That's not what the morning reports indicate." A pause, weighted with the particular brand of concern Damiros wields like a surgical instrument. "Azhrael refused to bridle this morning. Sythrak destroyed two feeding mechanisms. Even Vexris has been unusually aggressive during containment transfers."
I grip the observation rail harder than necessary, watching Azhrael shift restlessly in his volcanic basin. The beast's attention keeps drifting toward the stable entrance, toward the corridors where Lenna used to appear each morning.
"They're adjusting to the schedule change."
"Are they?" Damiros moves closer, positioning himself where I can't avoid acknowledging his presence. "Or are they reacting to something else?"
I finally turn to face him, finding his expression carefully neutral in that way that always precedes manipulation. "What do you want, Dam?"
"I want to make sure you understand that rotating workers through the stables is the correct decision." His green-gold eyeshold mine with steady certainty. "For the beasts' welfare and for your own."
"You were the one who suggested I use Lenna specifically." The words come out sharper than intended. "You said Azhrael's trust in her was valuable. That I should utilize it."
"And it was. For a time." Damiros doesn't flinch from the accusation in my tone. "But relying too heavily on a single human creates dependency. The beasts become unstable when that human is unavailable. You become unstable when your routines are disrupted."
The accuracy of that observation makes my jaw tighten. "I'm not unstable."
"You haven't slept properly in weeks. You've been distracted during estate meetings. Your temper has been progressively shorter." He gestures toward Azhrael's enclosure. "And your beasts are reflecting that stress because they're too attuned to one worker who clearly has other effects on your focus."
I want to argue. Want to point out that his logic doesn't account for the way Azhrael specifically responds to Lenna, or the fact that the replacement worker—efficient as she is—will never have the same instinctive understanding. But Damiros isn't wrong about my distraction, and we both know it.
"The reassignment stands," I say instead. "Lenna will adjust to kitchen work."
"And you'll adjust to her absence from the stables." Damiros's voice carries that gentle firmness he uses when he thinks he's protecting me from myself. "This is better for everyone involved, Mal. Trust me."
I turn back to Azhrael's enclosure, dismissing him without words. After a moment, I hear his footsteps recede down the corridor, leaving me alone with my beasts and the hollow feeling that's been expanding in my chest since Lenna stopped appearing for morning duties.
She hasn't fought the reassignment. Hasn't shown up demanding to be returned to stable work. Which means Damiros was right about that too—she's probably relieved to be away from here. Away from me.
The thought shouldn't bother me as much as it does.
Azhrael rumbles low, a sound I've learned to interpret as displeasure. His luminous eyes track me as I move along the observation walkway, radiating the kind of judgment I didn't know infernal beasts were capable of.
"Don't start," I tell him. "She's better off in the kitchens."
He doesn't respond, just continues watching me with that unsettling awareness that suggests he knows exactly what I'm not saying.
Three more days pass, and nothing improves.
Azhrael refuses every attempt at cooperation, forcing me to use containment protocols that damage our already-strained working relationship. The other beasts respond to his mood, creating a cascading instability that requires constant management. And I can't sleep without dreaming of Lenna in ways that feel less like fantasy and more like memory bleeding through barriers I can't identify.
I lie awake most nights, staring at the ceiling of my quarters and trying to convince myself that distance will eventually diminish whatever this is. That time will make her feel less essential, less present in every corner of my awareness.
It doesn't work.
By the seventh night, I give up on sleep entirely and return to the stables. The volcanic heat wraps around me as I descend, familiar and grounding in ways the cool quiet of my quarters never manages. At this hour, the space should be empty except for the beasts themselves, settling into whatever passes for rest among creatures bred for violence.
Azhrael is awake when I reach his enclosure, pacing his volcanic basin with restless energy that tells me he won't be calming down without intervention. The feeding pasture might help—open space, fresh air, the illusion of freedom that sometimes settles his more volatile moods.
"Alright," I mutter, keying the containment barrier down to entry level. "Let's get you out before you destroy something else."
