Page 13 of Thexan

“You will remain within reach,” I insisted.

I expected resistance. Instead, his expression shifted into something harder to name—part acknowledgment, part reluctant acceptance of the limit I had set.

“I’ll stay in the doorway,” she said. “You’ll still be within… whatever this is.”

The term was insufficient.

It was also the only one she had.

She began to move again, more carefully this time, adjusting her position so that the distance between us extended without fully breaking contact. Her fingers slid against mine, not releasing entirely, maintaining a line of connection that weakened but did not disappear.

The instability returned in a lesser form, present but manageable.

Acceptable.

For now.

Brynn moved to the door and paused with her hand on the latch, her posture shifting subtly as she prepared to face the human outside. When she opened it, she did so only partially, her body angled to block the view into the infirmary.

“What did you find?” she asked, her tone shifting into something more outwardly composed, less focused, less intense.

“Blood,” the male—Tanner—said. His voice carried closer now, clearer through the opening. “More than just a trail. Something was hurt bad, Brynn. Not human, I don’t think.”

“That would explain why you came to me,” she said.

“You’ve seen it before?”

“Variations of it,” she answered, not entirely untruthful.

I listened to the exchange, tracking the cadence of his speech, the subtle shifts in his breathing as he spoke. He was alert, and concerned but not yet suspicious beyond the immediate situation.

“Tracks are wrong,” he continued. “Too deep in some places, too light in others. Like, whatever it is doesn’t move like anything we’ve dealt with before.”

“It made it past the ridge?” Brynn asked.

“Close enough that we’re tightening patrols,” he said. “I wanted to check if anything came through here.”

“It didn’t come through the settlement,” she replied, her tone steady, leaving no space for doubt. “If it had, we’d know.”

The statement was only partly true, but it was delivered with enough certainty to carry weight. There was a brief pause on the other side of the door, the kind that came when a man measured what he had seen against what he was being told, trying to reconcile the two without fully committing to either.

“You sure?” he asked.

Brynn did not hesitate. “Yes.”

I felt the steadiness in her through the faint line of contact we still maintained, the subtle alignment of her body with the decision she had already made. She was not deflecting. She was choosing a position and holding it, fully aware of what it meant.

“Stay alert,” Tanner said after a moment. “If you see anything, you come get me. Don’t try to handle it yourself.”

“I never do,” she said.

The lie settled into the space between them without strain, supported by the calm control in her voice and the familiarity of the role she played within this structure. To him, it would have sounded like reassurance. To me, it was a clear extension of the choice she had already made.

His footsteps shifted outside, the sound of his movement gradually retreating, though not immediately leaving the area. He would remain close for a time, reassessing, checking the perimeter, ensuring that what he had seen did not lead to something more immediate. That was expected.

Brynn closed the door with measured care, securing it before turning back toward me. As she crossed the space between us, the distance narrowed again, and with it the subtle disruption within my system eased, the instability settling as the connection reestablished itself without resistance.

She resumed her position beside the cot, her hand returning to mine as though there had been no interruption at all, her focus already shifting back to the problem within the room.