He glances up as I approach the supply station, and his gaze lands on me like a physical weight.
I meet his eyes briefly, just long enough to acknowledge his presence, then turn my attention to gathering the tools I need. Brushes, scrapers, a bucket of cleaning solution that smells vaguely acidic.
I can feel him glaring at me. The heat of his attention presses against the back of my neck, and I grit my teeth, refusing to look up again.
Fine. Let him glare.
I get to work.
The walkway cleaning goes smoothly at first. I move methodically, scrubbing away the layers of ash and grime that accumulate faster than seems possible in a space like this. The beasts are more active today, their movements drawing my attention even when I try to keep my focus on the stone beneath my hands.
I can hear Malrec and the other demon talking, their voices low and clipped, discussing containment protocols and feeding schedules. Professional. Detached.
But then my eyes drift toward the largest enclosure at the far end of the walkway.
I don't know his name—no one's bothered to tell me the names of any of the beasts—but I remember him from the other day. That massive, shadowed form. The luminous eyes that glow faintly even in the dim light. The way he moves, slow and deliberate, like every shift of his body is a calculated decision.
He's agitated.
I can see it in the tension rippling through his frame, the way his head swivels toward Malrec's position and then away again, restless and dissatisfied. His tail—or what I assume is his tail—scrapes against the stone floor of his basin, the sound grating and sharp.
Malrec finishes his conversation with the other demon and strides toward the enclosure. His expression is harder now, less controlled, and I watch as he keys open the containment barrier with a series of precise gestures that make the runes shimmer and recede.
He steps inside.
And the beastexplodes.
Not literally—the creature doesn't attack—but the reaction is immediate and violent. He rears back, his entire body coiling like a spring, and releases a sound that reverberates through the entire stable. It's not quite a roar. Not quite a growl. It's something deeper, more primal, and it makes every other beast in the facility fall silent.
Malrec freezes, his hand raised in a placating gesture, but the beast doesn't settle. He thrashes, slamming his weight against the far wall of his enclosure hard enough to make the floor tremble beneath my feet.
"Azhrael," Malrec tries, his voice low and calm. But the sound of his name only makes the beast thrash more.
I drop the scrub brush.
Malrec backs out of the enclosure quickly, his jaw set, and re-engages the barrier. The runes flare brighter, reinforcing the containment, but Azhrael doesn't calm. He paces now, tight circles that make his form blur at the edges, and those luminous eyes burn with something that looks almost like fury.
Malrec turns sharply and stalks toward the adjoining workhouse, his shoulders rigid.
I don't think.
I just move.
With Malrec gone, I cross the walkway toward Azhrael's enclosure, my footsteps quiet against the iron, and stop at the railing. The heat is more intense here, radiating from the volcanic basin like a physical force, but I barely notice it.
Azhrael is still pacing, his movements jerky and uncontrolled, and the sound he's making now is lower—almost mournful. It tears at my chest, and I'm acting on pure instinct.
"Hey," I say quietly, my voice barely carrying over the ambient noise of the stables.
He stops.
His massive head swivels toward me, and those eyes—those impossible, luminous eyes—lock onto mine.
The world narrows.
I don't move. Don't speak. I just... stand there, holding his gaze, and something in my chest shifts. That pull I've been ignoring for days flares hot and bright, and suddenly it's not just a vague sense of longing.
It's recognition.
