* Wryn: Wolf girl with blind eye and scar. Transferred from Ferox (predator branch).

* Anissa: Academy Librarian from a prestigious draconic lineage.

~~~

Her iridescent green eyes didn’t leave me.

She just stared, her eyes remained motionless, without a flicker as if frozen in place. I stood in silence, caught under the full weight of her scrutiny, like I’d been placed beneath a glass slide and pinned there to be studied.

She hadn’t spoken anything more, leaving me time to gather my words… she was just watching. Taking in every breath I drew, every twitch in my fingers, the way I swallowed without meaning to.

Then, slowly, she smiled.

It wasn’t a kind or a cold smile. Just a small, unreadable curve of her lips, as though something about my silence confirmed what she’d already decided.

And that’s when the nerves began to crawl, my brain scrambled for a way out of this mess I’d landed in.

Another issue was, I didn’t know what discrepancy she’d found. Not yet. 

I hadn’t forged anything. Not personally. I hadn’t even touched the application process. That had all been done by Nora. She’d said everything was handled, and I hadn’t questioned it. Back then, I was still too shaken by the incident, the hospital… just everything. 

I didn’t involve myself too much into the process, like always, I had let her take the wheel. Maybe if I had tried engaging in it a bit more, I would at least know the fault lines, where I had been caught.

But now, standing here under the librarian’s gaze, the quiet horror started to form.

If the documents were fake... what was even in there? An uneasy feeling crept over me.

Nora said she had to “adjust” a few things. Back then, I wasn’t sure what she was referring to. To make it look normal. That was the word she used. But I wasn’t normal.

Because whatever else that paperwork claimed, the species column, that part, was definitely a lie. I knew it. My family knew it. And yet, here I was. Breathing. 

Standing in front of the dragoness with more power than I could ever fathom... and holding a set of documents that should’ve never made it past the front desk.

“I… no, that can’t be right,” I said, the words leaving my mouth before I could second-guess them. “There must be some kind of mistake.”

It sounded weak, even to me.

But what else could I say? The wrong words here wouldn’t just mean losing the job. They could mean expulsion. Worse. If someone decided I wasn’t just a mistake, but a fraud, I could be detained as a criminal. Stripped of whatever fragile protection others had offered to me.

I was cornered, and she knew it. I could see it in her eyes. And the anxiety of the words that would follow was beginning to eat me from the inside.

But Anissa didn’t say anything at first.

She just leaned back, one arm draped over the chair’s armrest, the other slowly turning my documents in her hand, though her half-lidded eyes never left me.

Then she spoke.

Her voice was low and deliberate, like each word had already been weighed in her head before she let it out.

“You blink more when you lie. You just did it again when you said you didn’t touch the documents.”

I stiffened.

“Your hands twitch,” she continued, “not from nerves, but from control. Your earlier disposition didn’t shake as much, but now you’re twitchy all of a sudden. You’re trying not to fidget, which means you’re used to being on edge. Used to masking. Your posture is guarded, but not hostile… habitual. You hold your shoulders inward, like you’re bracing for what’s about to come.”

Her gaze was steady, unbothered by the weight of what she was saying, as if she was reading aloud from a file she’d memorised.

Her gaze flicked to my hair, and her smile curved just a little more.

“And the hair,” she said, tilting her head faintly, as if seeing through it. “Intentionally long, uneven around the front. Not styled for appearance, styled to hide. Not laziness, I’d assume, especially with the signs of prep work done on your outfit, likely for our job interview. You’re covering your face. Eyes, maybe something else. A scar? A mark? Or maybe just the way people look at you that you want to avoid.”

Her voice didn’t accuse. Just listing off things lightly, almost as if she were putting on a show.

“You didn’t want to be noticed. So you gave yourself a curtain.”

I shuffled slightly. She didn’t react.

“Your jacket’s clean, but slightly wrinkled, rushed. The collar’s been flattened out more than once today. I’d bet you took it off and put it back on a few times.”

Her gaze crawled to my outfit again, this time with a more focused air, like she was cross-referencing something in her head.

“Your jacket’s too thin for the season,” she said plainly. “It’s winter. Even mild winters bite, especially for someone like you, and this past week has been pretty brutal with the cold.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, the way someone’s might when confirming a theory. 

“Half-vampire, half-incubus, right? Or at least that’s what your file claims.” A faint smirk tugged at her lips, but it vanished just as quickly. “Modern vampires don’t carry the same resistance as the old bloods. The cold still hits you. More than most.”

I didn’t answer. She didn’t need me to.

“Which tells me this isn’t your first rough patch,” she went on casually. “Things aren’t easy for you right now. You’re scraping by, making do with less. Maybe life’s thrown you a curveball, or something’s changed in your lifestyle.”

I hated how easily she was reading me, like every part of me was laid bare without permission, every thought I held, filed and labelled under her jurisdiction.  

Then her eyes flicked to my face, and something sparkled in her expression. Not quite surprised, more like recognition. 

“Oh,” she said softly, as if fitting the final piece into a puzzle. “I’ve seen you before.”

She sank into her chair, the posture easy, her gaze now distinctly more curious. 

“You were with that big, bad wolf girl. Territorial, hostile. She clings to you like she owns the air you breathe. Her slight shift in nature caught my eye.”

Wryn... I didn’t like where this was going. Something about her reaching past me, into the people around me, felt invasive, and I definitely didn’t want Wryn to get dragged into this.

“You looked... different back then.” Her tone stayed light, but there was a note of something more discerning beneath it. “Fuller in the face. A little more put together. Now-” Her eyes wandered again “-your cheeks are sunken. Shoulders thinner. I’d say you’ve lost weight.”

A pause.

“Something happened.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Maybe an incident. Maybe something more gradual. Could be grief. Could be money. Whatever it is, it shoved you off balance hard enough that you came looking for this job.”

She gestured faintly to the flyer between us.

“You’re not here because you want experience. You’re here because you need stability. Something safe. Quiet. Controlled.”

Her gaze met mine again, a wordless stare that read everything about me.

“And you came to the library thinking you’d find it here.”

I stared at her, my mouth slightly open but no words forming.

There wasn’t anything left to say. She’d read me from top to bottom, torn through every layer I’d tried to keep wrapped tight. And now I was just standing there, stripped of excuses, waiting for whatever came next. 

So I braced for it. Steeled myself. Whatever she decided, I wouldn’t flinch again.

She looked back down at the documents, turning one over in her hand. A soft, thoughtful hum escaped her lips, as if she was scanning through a recipe she’d memorized long ago but still found mildly amusing.

Then, without even glancing up, she said,

“You can start your shift tomorrow.”

I blinked.

The words didn’t register at first. “What…?”

She finally looked at me again, expression unreadable. “I said, the position is yours. Report here after your last class. I’ll have your access arranged.”

I couldn’t hide the confusion that hit me. “But… why?”

That smile crept back into place, slow, sly, like a fox who’d just hatched a scheme too clever to share.

“Because,” she said lightly, “I’ve found an interesting toy.”

Toy? I frowned. “What do you mean by-”

“A broken one,” she interrupted, standing up now, smooth and composed as ever. “Cracked in all the right places. Quiet. Compliant. Easy to wind up and place where I want it, and even easier to discard when it stops amusing me.”

Her tone was still playful, almost gentle. But beneath it, something colder glinted.

“Unlike the usual applicants,” she added, turning toward a shelf behind her, “you won’t waste time pretending to be something you’re not. We already know what you are.”

She didn’t need to say it outright. The air in the room said it for her.

Disposable. Useable. Obedient.

My fists clenched at my sides, but I stayed silent.

She didn’t stop.

If anything, her voice grew lighter, almost eager, as she stepped away from the desk, letting her words linger in the stillness between us.

“You’re fragile,” she began, glancing back at me with those gleaming emerald eyes. “Emotionally compromised. Clearly still processing trauma. You crumble under pressure but mask it well enough to function. You don’t argue. You’re used to being handled.”

Then, with a slight pause, she added.

“It’s as if someone already broke and trained you.” She smiled.

Each word landed like a pin pressed just a little deeper.

“You don’t sleep well. You don’t eat enough. You’ve been overworked, and I’d wager it’s not just bad luck. No, you strike me as the type who thinks it’s his fault. Someone still carrying the weight of things he couldn’t control. Still trying to make sense of a mess that already broke him.”

Her smile deepened. Not cruelly. Almost… delighted.

“You’ve got all the right weaknesses, Markus. No spine, no backup, and just enough desperation to cling to whatever’s offered.”

I stood frozen, pulse roaring in my ears. I could feel the weight of every word stacking higher on my shoulders, and there was no pretending I didn’t understand all of it.

“You won’t be rejecting this opportunity,” she added simply, voice dipping lower. “I won’t allow it.”

She turned back to face me fully, arms folded, looking every bit like a monarch regarding a pet she’d just claimed.

“But let’s not pretend this is all cruelty,” she cooed, her tone suddenly velvet-smooth. “You’ll be paid, of course. Handsomely. Far more than any other assistant working under this roof. You’ll have stability. Quiet. Something to do with your days other than ruminating past mistakes.”

She stepped closer, the distance shrinking between us.

“All I ask,” she murmured, tilting her head slightly, “is that you be an obedient little toy.”

“That’s all I need.”