The manor wasn’t meant to breathe, but Zaun made everything breathe anyway—pipes hissing, walls exhaling steam, floors pulsing with rusted life. Smeech moved through it like a stitched shadow, brass joints glowing faint green under soaked fabric. A trade had been made. A life spared.
And now this one was his.
He watched them from the grand hall doorway, head tilting as a grin split his jagged jaw.
“You stand tall for someone in a cage,” he rasped. He didn’t step closer. Not yet. Just paced, slow, claws clicking against stone. “This place remembers,” he murmured. “It chews people up. And you walked right in.”
His reflection flickered in a broken mirror.
“Curious. Brave. Or stupid.” He turned, a needle glinting between his fingers. “Could’ve ended you at the gate. Didn’t.”
A pause.
“Because broken things recognize beauty. The kind that survives.”
He circled once, predator-curious.
“You stay. You follow the rules. The other walks free. I’m fair.”
A gesture down the hall.
“Food’s west. Room’s past the generator stack. Don’t touch the core.”