Someone died in the stables.
I set the cloth down carefully and move to the doorway, peering into the corridor. A cluster of demons stand near the junction ahead, their voices lower now but still tense. One of them gestures sharply, and another shakes their head, horns catching the light from the rune sconces.
A human woman I recognize from the kitchens hurries past, her face pale. She doesn't look at me.
I step back into the storage room and press my shoulders against the wall, breathing through the strange tightness that's spread from my chest into my throat.
Someone died.
It happens. I know it happens. This is an infernal beast facility, not a textile workshop. The risks are built into the job description, not that most of the laborers get a choice. People die in places like this all the time.
But the knowledge doesn't dislodge the feeling twisting beneath my ribs.
It's not fear. Not exactly. It's something stranger—something that feels almost like... concern? No, that's not quite right either.
It feels like longing.
A pull, low in my chest, urging me to move. To go down to the stables. To check on them.
Not the people. The beasts.
The thought lodges in my mind with uncomfortable clarity, and I shove it away immediately. That's ridiculous. I don't know those creatures. I barely saw them. And after Malrec's little performance, I have zero interest in getting anywhere near them again.
Except the pull doesn't fade.
It sits there, quiet but insistent, like a thread tugging gently at something I didn't know existed until now.
I force myself back to the inventory list, gripping the parchment harder than necessary. It's just stress. Or maybe lingering adrenaline from hearing about the death. My mind is trying to create meaning where there isn't any.
I ignore it.
Or at least, I try to.
The next morning,Nimae finds me in the servant corridor and hands me a new assignment slip without preamble.
"You are wanted at the stables," she says simply. "Walkway maintenance, tool cleaning, and empty stall prep."
My stomach flips, but I keep my expression neutral. "Understood."
She studies me for a moment longer, something unreadable flickering across her face. Then she nods and walks away, leaving me standing there with the slip in hand.
I should feel apprehensive. Anxious, at the very least. Someone just died down there yesterday.
Instead, that strange pull in my chest loosens slightly, and I can breathe easier.
I don't examine that too closely.
The descent corridors feel different this time. Familiar, maybe, though that doesn't make sense given I've only walked them once before. The air thickens as I go deeper, heat curling around me like something alive, and the scent of sulfur and ash grows stronger with each step.
By the time I reach the main walkway, my skin is damp with sweat, and my pulse has settled into a steady rhythm that doesn't match the unease I should be feeling.
The stables are louder today. More restless. I can hear the scrape of claws against stone, the low rumble of contained power, the occasional sharp crack of something testing its restraints. The atmosphere feels charged, like the air before a storm.
I spot Malrec immediately.
He's standing near one of the central enclosures, speaking with another demon—a broad-shouldered male with horns that curve backward like ram's horns. They're both focused on the beast inside the enclosure, a hulking creature with plated scales that glint dully in the low light. It's huffing, shoulders heaving,and its tail lashes against the containment barrier hard enough to make the runes flicker.
Malrec's expression is tight, controlled, but I can see the tension in his posture. His hand rests near the hilt of something at his belt—a weapon, maybe, or a focus for binding magic.
