9. Lenna #3
I know this place.
Not just vaguely. Not just a sense of familiarity.
I know it. I know that the next corridor will curve left before opening into a larger viewing platform.
I know that the reinforced enclosure three spaces ahead houses something volatile that requires distance observation.
I know that there's a smaller passageway to the right that leads to specialized containment areas for newly acquired beasts.
And I shouldn't know any of that.
My breath comes shorter, and I press my hand against the stone wall to ground myself. The cool surface feels exactly as I expected it to—rough texture with smooth veins of embedded mineral that catch the light from overhead rune fixtures.
Expected. Like I've touched this wall before.
"Are you unwell?" Damiros has stopped walking, his sharp gaze fixed on me with that same unsettling intensity from the carriage.
"I'm fine." My voice sounds steadier than I feel. "Just adjusting to the environment."
Malrec turns, his attention landing on me with immediate focus. Something flickers across his face—concern? recognition?—before he masks it. "We can take a break if you need—"
"I'm fine," I repeat, pushing away from the wall. My legs feel unsteady, but I force myself to move forward. To follow them deeper into the viewing area even though every step makes the disorientation worse.
We pass enclosure after enclosure, and I feel myself fracturing. My conscious mind insists this is new, unfamiliar, completely foreign territory. But my body moves through the space with ease, automatically adjusting to the layout as though it's been mapped into my muscle memory.
Malrec keeps glancing at me. Quick assessments that feel more personal than professional, like he's cataloging something specific about my responses. I half expect him to snap at me, but while he might not be warm, that hostility has been fading to something else.
And Damiros watches both of us with an expression that's becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. Like he knows something. Like he's waiting for something to happen.
We stop in front of a large enclosure housing what looks like a volcanic serpent—massive, coiled around heat vents with scales that shimmer between black and deep red. Malrec discusses its potential with Damiros, their conversation technical and focused.
I barely hear them.
Because standing here, in this exact spot, feels more right than anything has felt since I arrived at House Virex.
No—before that. Since I woke up in whatever life I had before the gaps in my memory. Since I became this version of myself that feels like a shell around something I can't access.
My chest aches with it. This overwhelming sense of correctness that doesn't match anything my conscious mind can explain. It's not just familiarity anymore. It's belonging. It's standing in a place I've stood before, watching beasts I've seen before, existing beside someone I've—
I cut that thought off before it can complete, but the damage is done.
My body is already responding, heat flooding through me in waves that make my skin feel too sensitive.
Too aware of Malrec's proximity, of the way he moves, of the precise tone of his voice as he discusses acquisition costs with his brother.
Everything is building. Pressure behind my eyes, in my chest, low in my stomach where want has been pooling for days now. Building until I can't think straight, can't separate what's real from what might be memory from what might be complete delusion.
And beneath all of it—cutting through the confusion and disorientation and overwhelming sensory input—is the clearest feeling I've had in my entire conscious life:
This is right.
Being here. Standing in this space. Watching Malrec assess beasts with that focused intensity while Damiros maintains careful observation of us both.
All of it feels exactly as it should be.
Even though none of it makes sense. Even though I should be terrified by how much I don't understand about my own responses. Even though every rational part of my mind is screaming that something is fundamentally wrong with the way I'm experiencing this moment.
I feel right for the first time I can remember.
And I don't know what to do with that.
Malrec says something to Damiros, then turns toward me. His ember-gold eyes find mine, and I watch his expression shift. Watch recognition flicker across his features before he suppresses it.
But I saw it. That moment where he looked at me and saw something that matched whatever is churning in my own chest.
"We should continue," Damiros says, his voice carrying an edge I haven't heard before. Almost urgent. "There are several more enclosures to assess before the formal auction begins."
Malrec holds my gaze for one more heartbeat, then nods. "Agreed."
They move forward, and I follow.
Because despite everything—despite the disorientation and confusion and growing certainty that I'm missing something fundamental about my own existence—I can't do anything else.