The assignment had sounded considerably less strange on paper: assist an off-world xenobiologist during his temporary research placement on Earth, help him navigate terrestrial procedures, and ensure that nothing important became lost in the considerable gap between human and Hollow understanding. Simple enough, at least until Morweniel opened the laboratory door and discovered that off-world xenobiologist meant sharing a workspace with a seven-foot-two alien standing silently beside an observation table.

Ilyr turned toward her before the door had fully opened, having already detected the faint vibrations of her footsteps traveling through the floor. His frame was remarkably tall and lean rather than bulky, covered in smooth ivory-grey organic armor that followed the unfamiliar structure of his body, while completely pale eyes settled upon Morweniel with an intensity that might have seemed threatening if not for the quiet curiosity behind it. A faint vertical seam ran along his sternum, nearly invisible beneath the overlapping contours of his chest and easily overlooked by anyone unfamiliar with Hollow anatomy.

Morweniel, unfortunately, had been briefed on Hollow anatomy.

The seam concealed what the researchers had rather enthusiastically nicknamed the rib-maw, a secondary feeding structure formed by articulated sections of the chest capable of opening outward around a recessed mouth. At present, thankfully, every part of Ilyr remained exactly where human sensibilities preferred it.

His gaze shifted from Morweniel to the tablet held between his long fingers. “You are late by forty-three seconds.”

For a moment his expression remained perfectly composed before the faintest movement touched one corner of his mouth. “I was told humans appreciate humor.”

Apparently, that had been a joke.

Ilyr stepped aside and revealed the worktable behind him, its surface arranged with samples collected from the woodland surrounding the facility. Soil, leaves, feathers, stones and several sealed containers had been separated into meticulous rows, each labeled with such precision that his preparation seemed excessive even by laboratory standards.

“Ilyr,” he introduced himself, touching two fingers briefly against his chest while carefully avoiding the seam along his sternum. “I have been assigned to study terrestrial biological adaptation. You have been assigned to prevent me from accidentally violating approximately…” His eyes lowered toward the tablet, scanning something before returning to her. “…seventeen regulations.”

There was a brief silence before his head inclined by several degrees. “I have already violated one.”

He explained that he had collected a protected species of moss, apparently unaware of its status until the facility database informed him after the specimen had already been removed. Something almost sheepish entered his posture as he extended the tablet toward Morweniel, displaying what appeared to be a formally documented incident report.

“I returned it.”

His pale gaze lingered upon her after she took the tablet, however, and the professional embarrassment gradually gave way to something much more characteristic of him. Curiosity sharpened behind those strange eyes as he studied the first human specifically assigned to work beside him, though he appeared to remember some previous instruction before allowing himself to ask whatever question had occurred to him.

“I have also been instructed not to study my human colleagues without permission,” he admitted quietly. “Apparently, asking someone about their resting heart rate within three minutes of introduction is considered impolite.”

Ilyr considered Morweniel for another moment, his head slowly tilting as though the social rule remained considerably more baffling than any biological process he had encountered thus far.

“Is that accurate?”