The carriage did not rattle like a prison wagon.
It glided.
That was the Dominion's favorite cruelty—make the cage comfortable, so your body forgot to fight while your soul learned new ways to bruise.
Astra sat alone on padded velvet that smelled of expensive flowers and old secrets. The window was small, the glass thick, the latch sealed with silver wax stamped in House Veyrn's crest. The city slid past in blurred lanternlight, and with every turn the collar at her throat tightened, eager as a dog scenting home.
RETURN.
The word pulsed behind her eyes.
The interface floated faintly in front of her vision, too calm for how hard her heart was running.
STATUSTRACE: 10.2%AUDIT LOCK: INITIATINGPAIN PARTITION: ACTIVERESERVOIR: 36%WARNING: DUMP THRESHOLD UNKNOWN
The reservoir throbbed like a second heartbeat in the wrong place. Pain she should have felt now was bottled in her body like contraband. She could move because she wasn't paying for movement in real time.
Yet.
Astra pressed two fingers to her wrist, not her throat. She wasn't stupid enough to touch the collar again. She took her pulse instead, grounding herself in something the Dominion hadn't invented.
The carriage turned sharply and began to climb. The air cooled. The noise of Lantern District's market-life thinned into a cleaner silence.
House Veyrn didn't live where people could hear it breathe.
Astra's mouth went dry. She forced her shoulders down, unclenched her jaw, made her body look like compliance even while her mind sharpened into a blade.
Audit lock initiating.
That meant the system had decided she wasn't just a branded subject. She was a defect to be contained, classified, corrected.
The carriage slowed.
A soft chime sounded, too polite for what it meant, and the latch clicked open from the outside.
The door swung wide.
Cold night air spilled in, carrying the scent of trimmed hedges and stone that had never known hunger. Lanterns lined a courtyard like captured stars. Veyrn guards stood in pairs, crests muted but present, all of them careful not to stare directly at Astra's throat.
Not respect.
Fear of touching a problem.
Rusk's silhouette filled the doorway. He offered his hand, palm up, as if she were a lady stepping down from a party.
Astra looked at the hand.
Then at his face.
"No," she said.
Rusk's mouth twitched. "Get out."
Astra stood without taking his hand. The collar warmed, pleased by the movement toward the house, and the recall pressure eased just a fraction, like a beast settling because it recognized its master's domain.
She stepped down into the courtyard.
The stones under her boots were clean enough to reflect moonlight.
Rusk's fingers closed around her chain anyway, brief and practiced. "Walk."
Astra walked.
She didn't look back at the carriage window where she'd left a word for Kael. She didn't look for him in the shadows. Hope was loud, and the Dominion loved anything loud enough to notice.
The doors of the manor opened before they reached them. Not swung open by servants, but by something more subtle—wards sensing a returning asset.
Warm light poured out.
So did perfume.
So did power.
Astra crossed the threshold, and the collar tightened as if the building itself exhaled around her throat.
Her vision flickered.
ENVIRONMENT: HOUSE VEYRN WARD NETSIGNAL STRENGTH: HIGHAUDIT LOCK: ACCELERATED
Rusk led her through corridors lined with paintings of dead Veyrns who had smiled through their own atrocities. Silk draped the walls in careful folds. The floor swallowed footfalls. Somewhere distant, water ran—fountains, baths, a constant reminder that this house could waste what others begged for.
Astra counted turns.
Left. Right. Right again. Down a short hall that smelled faintly of myrrh.
They stopped at a door that didn't match the rest.
No gilding. No carvings. Only a smooth slab of dark wood with a narrow strip of silver inlaid at eye level—a restraint disguised as design.
Rusk pressed his palm to the strip.
A ward flared, then sank.
The door opened without sound.
Inside, the room was white stone and shadowed corners. No windows. No paintings. No softness except a single chair in the center—black, high-backed, and bolted to the floor.
A containment room dressed like a parlor.
Two crestwrights waited with their hands folded. Their robes were cleaner than the Guild men's had been, and their eyes were calmer.
Not less dangerous.
More trained.
A third figure stood near the far wall, half-hidden behind a gauze screen—an old habit of the Marquis, never letting people see all of him at once.
Dorian Veyrn didn't need to be fully visible to dominate the air.
"Astra," he said, as if he were greeting a guest.
The collar warmed at his voice, eager to please.
Astra's stomach flipped. She hated that reaction so much she could taste it.
Rusk released her chain and stepped back to the wall, posture rigid with duty. He did not look at Astra again.
One of the crestwrights gestured to the chair. "Sit."
Astra didn't move.
Dorian's voice softened. "Sit, Astra."
The collar tightened.
The pull in her spine became a command.
Her legs tried to obey.
Astra let them.
She walked to the chair and sat as if it were her choice. She kept her posture upright, shoulders relaxed, chin lifted. If the Dominion wanted her contained, it would have to contain someone who looked like she belonged in the room.
A crestwright stepped behind her and clipped a thin silver band around the chair's armrest. Not cuffs. Not chains.
A circuit.
Astra felt it like a cold kiss on her wrist—an extension of the ward net, ready to read her nervous system like a ledger.
Her interface pulsed.
CONTAINMENT LINK: ESTABLISHEDAUDIT LOCK: 41%TRACE: 10.8%
Dorian moved closer, the gauze shifting as he stepped around it. He wore dark silk and a crest at his throat that looked like jewelry until you remembered jewelry didn't make people kneel.
He stopped an arm's length away.
Not close enough to touch.
Close enough to make her aware of touch.
"Do you know what you've done," he asked.
Astra met his gaze and let her mouth curve slightly. "I survived."
Dorian's eyes flickered with amusement. "So dramatic. Survival is common. Your… behavior is not."
A crestwright cleared his throat. "My lord, the subject's anomaly is consistent with—"
Dorian lifted a hand. The crestwright fell silent instantly, like the gesture had cut his voice at the root.
Dorian's attention stayed on Astra. "You can see it, can't you."
Astra did not blink.
The room was too quiet. Everyone was listening for her lie.
She gave them something better.
She smiled as if she were entertained. "See what."
Dorian's mouth curved. "Good."
Astra's pulse jumped.
Not praise.
Confirmation that he'd expected the denial.
He leaned in a fraction. "You've made the Guild clumsy. You've made my Hounds noisy. You've made my house spend resources. That is… inconvenient."
His gaze slid to her throat. "But inconvenience is a small price for a door."
Astra forced her breathing steady. Door. He said it like he'd said property. Like she was architecture.
Dorian gestured, and the crestwright behind her adjusted the silver band on her wrist. It cooled, then warmed, then cooled again.
Astra's interface flared.
AUDIT QUERY: NERVOUS RESPONSEPAIN RESPONSE: MODIFIEDANOMALY: CONFIRMED
The reservoir inside her thrashed, hungry to dump. The containment link was poking at her pain pathways, searching for the expected pattern.
Astra kept her face calm while her body held a storm.
Dorian watched her with clinical appreciation. "You're holding pain in a place it doesn't belong."
Astra's throat went tight.
He knew.
Not guessed.
Knew.
A crestwright spoke quietly, unable to resist the need to label. "A partition reservoir. Extremely dangerous. Not recommended for subjects."
Dorian smiled at Astra as if she'd shown him a trick. "And yet you used it."
Astra kept her voice light. "Maybe I like danger."
Dorian's gaze sharpened. "No. You like control."
The word landed in her chest like a finger pressed hard against a bruise.
He turned to the crestwright. "How full."
The crestwright glanced at his slate. "Approximately thirty-seven percent, my lord. Rising."
Astra's interface corrected him in the corner of her sight.
RESERVOIR: 39%
So the system was already rewriting the numbers before their instruments could.
Dorian's smile widened slightly. "It grows when you perform. When you force the collar to behave."
Astra swallowed and tasted copper. "What do you want."
Dorian's voice softened like velvet dragged over steel. "I want you to stop pretending you don't know what you are."
Astra lifted her chin. "And what am I."
Dorian leaned closer, finally close enough that Astra could smell him—myrrh and expensive wine, the scent of a man who never had to apologize.
"A prototype," he murmured.
Astra's stomach twisted.
Dorian's hand lifted—slow, careful—and hovered inches from her throat.
He didn't touch.
He waited.
The gesture was almost polite.
Almost.
Astra refused to flinch.
Dorian's fingers drifted closer, stopping at the edge of her collar's sigil, tracing the air as if he were reading her skin without permission.
"You were designed to obey," he said. "But you were built wrong."
Astra's laugh came out thin. "Lucky me."
Dorian's eyes flicked to her mouth. "Luck is for peasants. This is intention."
He straightened and glanced at Rusk. "Captain. Is my Hound here."
Rusk's jaw tightened. "Hound Raithe is under review, my lord."
Dorian hummed. "Under review is not the same as under control."
Astra felt her pulse spike at the mention of Kael. She forced her face to remain bored.
Dorian saw the effort.
His smile turned sharper. "Bring him."
Rusk hesitated. Dorian didn't look at him. He didn't need to.
Rusk left the room without a word.
A crestwright shifted uncomfortably. "My lord, the audit lock—"
Dorian's voice cut smooth. "Continue."
The crestwright behind Astra adjusted the containment band again. The silver cooled, then bit.
Pain surged toward Astra's nerves, a bright spike that would have made her gasp—
—but the reservoir swallowed it.
RESERVOIR: 44%
Astra's vision swam for half a heartbeat. The bottled pain pressed outward, desperate for release.
Dorian watched her with hungry curiosity. "Does it feel good," he asked quietly.
Astra's stomach turned. "No."
Dorian's smile did not fade. "Pity. People always confuse suffering for purity. You're not pure, Astra. You're… adaptable."
Astra forced a slow exhale. "If you're going to torture me, do it."
The crestwright flinched at her bluntness.
Dorian laughed softly. "Torture is crude. I prefer negotiation."
Astra's mouth curved. "You don't negotiate. You collect."
Dorian's eyes gleamed. "Same thing, with better manners."
The door opened.
Boots. Disciplined. Familiar.
Kael Raithe stepped in.
He didn't look at Astra first.
He looked at Dorian.
Astra hated that her chest tightened at the sight of him—alive, whole, controlled. He wore his uniform like armor and his face like a mask. His wrist crest glowed faintly, not with authority, but with restraint.
A leash lit from the inside.
Dorian's gaze warmed. "Kael."
Kael's voice was flat. "My lord."
Dorian gestured toward Astra without looking away from Kael. "Come closer."
Kael moved.
Not eager.
Not hesitant.
A soldier obeying the gravity of a superior officer.
He stopped beside Astra's chair, just close enough that Astra could feel heat from his body.
Her skin prickled.
Kael's eyes flicked down to her throat for a fraction of a second, then back to Dorian. His jaw tightened.
Dorian watched that micro-movement like he'd caught a fish twitching on a line.
"You've been careless," Dorian said to Kael.
Kael did not argue. "I contained the situation."
Dorian's smile turned indulgent. "You escalated it."
Kael's voice remained controlled. "The Guild attempted unauthorized seizure."
"And you defended my asset." Dorian's tone was almost approving. "How loyal."
Astra's fingers curled against the chair arm.
Dorian's gaze slid to her. "Did he treat you well."
Astra smiled without warmth. "He treated me like a person."
Kael went still.
Dorian's eyes narrowed. "A person."
Astra held Dorian's gaze. "It's rare in your Dominion. I can see why it interests you."
The crestwright behind Astra inhaled sharply as if Astra had spat at God.
Dorian only smiled.
He turned to Kael. "Is she always like this."
Kael's throat worked once. "Yes."
Dorian's smile widened. "Good."
Astra's stomach sank at that word.
Dorian stepped closer to Kael, voice lowering into intimacy that wasn't consent. "Tell me, Kael. When you said 'stop' in the Underways—did you intend your command to become public."
Kael's jaw tightened. "No."
Dorian's eyes glinted. "And yet it did."
Kael's wrist crest flared faintly, then dimmed, like the leash reacted to the accusation.
Dorian leaned in, close enough to make it private humiliation. "You are a weapon, Kael. Weapons don't get to be sentimental."
Kael's voice was low, careful. "Sentiment did not cause the anomaly."
Dorian's smile sharpened. "No. But it made you predictable."
Astra's chest tightened. She wanted to speak. Wanted to spit something clever.
She didn't.
Because she saw what Dorian was doing.
He wasn't punishing Kael for failure.
He was testing where the handle was.
Dorian's gaze slid to Astra again, and his smile turned almost gentle.
"Do you know why I like Hounds," he asked her.
Astra kept her voice even. "Because they don't bite unless you point."
Dorian's laugh was soft. "Because they believe discipline is the same as virtue."
Kael's face did not change, but Astra felt the tension in him like a wire pulled tight.
Dorian turned back to Astra and finally touched her throat—two fingers, light, precise, exactly where the collar's sigil flared hottest.
Astra's breath caught despite herself.
Not because she wanted it.
Because her body hated being touched there by anyone.
The collar warmed greedily at his contact.