Koen stood stiffly as Bellius spoke, arms crossed over his chest, fingers digging into his biceps as he listened. The way Bellius spoke—"That’s a strong name. I like it."—sent an odd shiver down his spine. It wasn’t threatening, exactly, but it was still unsettling. Like the weight of those words meant something more here than they would’ve back home.

And then came the introductions.

Bellius. Sayla. Rhiot.

Koen kept his face neutral, but his mind worked quickly, turning over the information, storing it. Institute. Head of Arcane. Head of Viper. He had no damn clue what any of that meant, not yet, but it sounded like some kind of hierarchy. Bellius ran this place. Sayla dealt with magic. Rhiot… Viper. Whatever that entailed.

He didn’t react outwardly to any of it, just nodded once in acknowledgment. But the moment Sayla spoke, his jaw clenched.

"Pardon my informality here, but what the literal hells, Bellius."

Her voice was sharp, edged with irritation, and Koen felt himself instinctively straighten, shoulders squaring as tension crackled between them. He didn’t know the full scope of their argument, but he could read people well enough. Sayla was pissed. Bellius, for all his composure, was holding firm.

Koen should’ve been more concerned with whart they were actually saying—what problem Sayla thought he might pose, what Bellius thought about all of this—but instead, all he could focus on was the sheer, suffocating sensation of being talked about. Right in front of him.

Like he wasn’t even there.

Like he was some specimen they had to analyze and decide what to do with.

It hit a nerve, one that had been worn raw long before he woke up in this place.

And Rhiot was staring.

Koen caught it out of the corner of his eye—the way the pale-haired fey’s red gaze lingered on him, th flicker of something unreadable in his expression. It wasn’t just curiosity. It was study. Those eyes were pretty, but not when they lingered on Koen like he was some kind of new animal no one had ever seen before.

Koen turned his head slightly, meeting Rhiot’s gaze dead-on for a moment. If he was supposed to flinch away under the scrutiny, he didn’t. He just held it, let his exhaustion temper the sharpness in his own green eyes.

Then, finally, Bellius gave an order. And Koen wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or irritated when he was handed off to Rhiot like some kind of package.

Rhiot, for his part, seemed amused by the whole thing.

Koen didn’t like that.

He liked it even less when Rhiot started walking, and he was expected to just follow along like some lost kid. But what choice did he have? Wandering off in an unfamiliar place like this would be stupid, and Koen wasn’t stupid.

So, he walked.

Koen’s jaw tightened as he walked, the fey’s presence irritatingly palpable. There was something about him—something smug, or maybe just too self-assured—that made Koen’s skin itch. He wasn’t sure if it was the way Rhiot kept looking at him, all sharp-eyed and studying, or the way he spoke, like he was playing at being polite but didn’t actually care about the answer. Maybe it was both. Maybe it was just the fact that Koen didn’t like being paraded around like some kind of curiosity.

Still, he forced himself to keep his expression unreadable, or as close to it as he could manage. He’d already given too much away with the way he’d tensed when Bellius and Sayla had been arguing. He wasn’t interested in giving Rhiot more ammunition to pick him apart.

The fey’s comment was met with nothing but a slow exhale from Koen’s nose. He didn’t even glance at him.

It wasn’t that Koen didn’t want to respond. He did. He wanted to say something dry, maybe bite back at the casual way Rhiot was treating this whole thing. Like Koen hadn’t just woken up in another world, like he wasn’t standing in the middle of some ornate, unfamiliar hall, surrounded by creatures that could probably kill him if they felt like it.

But he didn’t have the energy for that right now.

His body still felt wrong. Not weak, exactly—more like his muscles weren’t reacting the way they should, like something was slowing them down, making everything just a little too sluggish. If he had to fight, he wasn’t confident he’d be at full capacity. And that pissed him off.

No, I don’t want a drink, he wanted to snap when Rhiot offered. Instead, he barely inclined his head, his voice flat. “I’m fine.”

The truth was, he didn’t trust anything they had here. He didn’t trust them. Not yet.

His gaze flickered briefly over the spread of food, eyes catching on the glistening fruits, the fresh bread, the thick, cured meats. It smelled good—too good. Like something out of a fairytale, which was exactly why Koen wasn’t touching any of it. He might not know much about fey, hadn't even known they existed, but he knew enough. Eating or drinking the wrong thing in a place like this could go bad fast.

Rhiot’s smirk didn’t help. That smug little curve of his lips, the way he watched Koen, like he was waiting to see what he’d do. Koen hated it.

“You’re really enjoying this, huh?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them, his exhaustion making him reckless. He met Rhiot’s red-eyed gaze, his own unreadable, but something simmered beneath it. “Playing tour guide. Watching me stumble around trying to make sense of any of this.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. The weight behind it was enough.

Then, as if deciding the conversation wasn’t even worth lingering on, Koen turned away from the food, from Rhiot’s too-interested expression, and rolled his shoulders. He could still feel Rhiot’s eyes on him. Watching. Assessing.

Koen had dealt with people like this before. People who looked at him like they were trying to figure him out like he was some puzzle they just had to solve.

He never let them.