He's out there. Malrec.
I give Azhrael one final stroke before stepping back, my heart already picking up speed at the thought of what I'm about to do. The uncertainty in my chest sharpens into something more focused—not quite courage, but close enough to pass for it.
The path to the pastures is one I've walked countless times now, my feet carrying me through the dim corridors without hesitation. The temperature rises as I move closer to the exterior access point, volcanic heat bleeding through the stone in ways that would probably be unbearable if I weren't already acclimated.
The pasture spreads before me when I emerge—a vast expanse of dark stone and strategic vegetation, bordered by containment wards that shimmer faintly in the afternoon light.The sky above is its perpetual crimson, clouds moving sluggishly across it like old blood.
And there, in the center of the space, is Malrec.
He's not alone. There's a beast with him—one I don't immediately recognize, which means it must be newly acquired or recently moved from a different section of the facility. The creature is massive, nearly as large as Azhrael, but built differently. Where Azhrael's form suggests controlled power, this beast radiates volatile unpredictability. Its body is covered in what looks like crystalline protrusions that catch the light in sharp, aggressive angles. Every movement it makes is accompanied by a low grinding sound, like stone scraping against stone.
Malrec circles it slowly, his posture cautious but confident. He's dressed in his usual work attire—dark, fitted clothing that allows freedom of movement, gloves reinforced with protective runes. There's a binding rope coiled in one hand, but he hasn't attempted to use it yet. Just watching. Assessing.
The beast shifts suddenly, its head swinging toward Malrec with clear aggression. He sidesteps smoothly, maintaining distance while keeping his attention locked on the creature. The entire exchange has the feeling of a negotiation conducted without words—predator evaluating predator, both testing for weakness.
I should announce my presence. Call out to him. But I'm momentarily frozen by the sight of him like this—completely focused, moving with the kind of precision that comes from years of practice. This is Malrec in his element, doing what he was trained for. And despite everything complicated between us, watching him work is still captivating.
The beast notices me before Malrec does. Its attention snaps in my direction, crystalline protrusions bristling with what might be defensive response or simple curiosity. The shift in itsfocus makes Malrec turn, following the creature's gaze until his ember-gold eyes land on me.
For a moment, we just look at each other across the distance. His expression is unreadable—carefully blank in a way I've learned means he's actively suppressing reaction. But there's something underneath it, something that looks almost like pain, and I don't understand what I'm seeing.
"Lenna." My name comes out flat, devoid of the warmth I remember from last night. "What are you doing here?"
I start forward before I can second-guess myself, crossing into the pasture proper. The ground is uneven beneath my feet, volcanic stone worn smooth in some places and jagged in others. "I wanted to talk to you."
"Now isn't a good time." He doesn't look at me as he says it, his attention returning to the beast that's now watching both of us with increased interest. "You should go."
The dismissal stings more than it should, especially after everything that happened between us. I take another step closer, close enough now that I can see the tension in his shoulders, the careful way he's maintaining distance from both me and the creature. "I can help. Like with Azhrael?—"
"No." The word cuts sharp and immediate. Now he does look at me, and what I see in his face makes my breath catch. He looks hurt. Actually hurt, in a way I've never seen him express before. His jaw is tight, his eyes carrying something that looks dangerously close to devastation barely held in check. "You can't. Go back to the estate."
I stop walking but I don't retreat. "Malrec?—"
"I said no." His voice drops lower, taking on the commanding edge he uses with the beasts when they're being difficult. But underneath it, I hear something else. Something that sounds like he's protecting himself rather than trying to control me. "I don't need your help. I don't want it. Leave."
The beast makes a grinding sound, its crystalline protrusions flaring outward in what might be agitation. Malrec's attention snaps back to it immediately, his body shifting into a defensive stance that suggests the situation could turn dangerous quickly.
I should listen to him. Turn around and walk back to the estate like he's telling me to. But something about the way he won't look at me—the hurt I glimpsed in his expression before he locked it down—keeps my feet planted firmly in place.
"Why are you doing this?" The question comes out before I can stop it. "Last night you told me not to run from you. Now you're telling me to leave. Which is it?"
His shoulders go rigid, every line of his body screaming tension. The beast takes a step closer to him, head lowering in what could be threat assessment or something else entirely. Malrec doesn't move, doesn't acknowledge my question, just keeps his focus locked on the creature in front of him.
"Malrec." I try again, pushing past the anxiety tightening my throat. "We need to talk about?—"
"There's nothing to talk about." His voice is absolutely flat now, stripped of everything except cold authority. "Last night was a mistake. One I won't repeat. Now get out of this pasture before this beast decides you're interesting enough to investigate."
A mistake. The words slam into me, each one stripping away the tentative hope that had been building since I decided to come find him. But even as he says it, even as he tries to push me away with harsh words and dismissive tone, I see the way his hands are shaking slightly. The way his jaw works like he's forcing the words out against his own instincts.
He's lying. Or trying to convince himself he's telling the truth. I don't know which is worse.
18
MALREC
Iforce myself to keep my attention on the beast, not on her. Not on the way she's standing there with her chin lifted despite the dismissal I just threw at her. Not on how my entire body wants to turn toward her like she's the only thing in this pasture worth focusing on.
"Leave." I don't soften the word, don't give her anything to latch onto. My hands tighten on the binding rope, the rough fiber digging into my palms even through the reinforced gloves. "Now."
