[Chapter 82. Half Truths]
The hare's pelt lay stretched flat against the stone on the riverbank, fur side down, looking like a surgical diagram. Searanox ran a hand over its surface, feeling the coarse, clean texture; there was no gristle, no blood, and no smell of musk. He stored the remaining bones and entrails back into his ring, leaving the area as sterile as if a hunt had never occurred. With the hare professionally butchered and its prime meat ready, the group moved toward the living quarters of the Spire.
They entered the Grand Atrium, a space now dominated by towering piles of sorted food—crates of dry goods, bags of grain, and stacks of canned preserves. Searanox gestured toward the mountain of supplies. "In whose kitchen should we prep the dinner?" His gaze swept across the wall of provisions. "We got spices over there as well. Use what you need."
"You expect us to cook? After you left us behind to be hunted?" Vanessa’s voice was weak, the words coming out in a raspy, exhausted breath, but a flicker of her old fire remained visible behind her fatigue.
"We can use the one in my room," Lana offered quickly. Her voice was little more than a whisper, a desperate attempt to find some small measure of utility or control in an existence that felt increasingly like a landslide.
"It is fairly simple," Searanox said, his tone flat and devoid of any emotional weight. "You have to eat, or you will die. My drones don't require biological fuel, but you do." He gestured again, encompassing the entire hoard of supplies. "This food... it isn't an endless fountain. It will run out or simply spoil over time if not handled. I provide you with safety and the means for growth; in return, I only ask for a few small domestic tasks." He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly behind his shades. "For now, at least."
Sarah and Lana blushed, their heads bowing in a strange mixture of shame and relief. Vanessa’s face tightened with genuine surprise, her immediate anger momentarily derailed by the cold logic of his "request." Carmen, as always, remained a stoic observer, her dark eyes tracking the shift in the room's power dynamics.
"Then we will cook in Lana's kitchen," Carmen said, her tone clear and gentle, effectively ending the debate.
Vanessa scowled, her defiance returning in a sharp rush. "Are we supposed to simply accept this?! Like we’re his... his maids?" she shouted, her voice echoing off the high, vaulted ceiling.
But Carmen was already moving toward the supply piles, her movements deliberate and unhurried as she gathered salt, oil, and vegetables.
"And Carmen," Searanox’s voice cut through the mounting tension. It was no louder than usual, but it carried an edge that demanded absolute attention. "Before you go join your new friends, I would like a word with you. Alone."
While Iris walked off toward the center stone with the meat, Sarah and Lana froze. Their hands were full of supplies, but their bodies went rigid. They turned to Carmen, their faces pale with a sudden, sharp fear.
"Carmen, you can't..." Vanessa said, her voice a choked whisper of panic, her anger replaced by a protective dread.
"Yes, I can, Vanessa," Carmen said, her gaze fixed directly on Searanox. "If I don't, we all might." She took a deep, stabilizing breath. "I'll be back soon."
With a chilling calm that belied her age, Carmen walked toward him. Her posture was rigid, her hands empty. Lana and Sarah watched her go as if she were walking toward a gallows, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and a strange, desperate hope that she might somehow bridge the gap between them and their captor. Vanessa stood frozen, her defiance finally crumbling into a raw, impotent fury.
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Carmen looked to the place where the others just had been, before her trammeling hands reached for her tunic and slowly lifted it. "Would you like me right here?" her voice was soft, her gaze pointed towards the floor.
Searanox cooked his head to the side and said bluntly, "Carmen I said a word with you..."
Once the others had retreated toward the upper floors, Searanox turned to Carmen. "You handled the march well, Carmen. Better than the others. Your heart rate barely spiked during the wolf encounter." He paused, his gaze stripping away any pretense of ignorance. "You also began to notice more than you should have during the trek. The lack of other predators. The way the path seemed... guided."
Carmen’s heart hammered against her ribs, but her face remained a perfect mask of neutrality. "I understand, Searanox. I only wish to be an asset, not a liability. Knowledge is a tool. I will treat it as such." The words were a gamble, a carefully constructed response. She wasn't just acknowledging his control over their environment; she was framing her own intellect as a resource he could utilize rather than a threat he needed to eliminate.
He gave a slow, deliberate nod—a gesture that was both a dismissal and a chilling confirmation of her suspicions. "Good. You may join the others. Don't keep them waiting." He turned his attention toward the center stone, effectively closing their audience. A second later, he vanished in a flash of violet light.
Carmen reached the second floor, the smell of searing meat and the sound of subdued, fearful conversation reaching her—a stark reminder of the fragile lives now intertwined with her own. She pushed the door open. Three heads snapped toward her instantly. Iris, however, remained focused on the pan, her silver hair shimmering in the light of the stove.
"Are you alright? Did he... y-you know... do anything?" Lana asked, her voice a tremor.
"He just wanted to talk," Carmen said, her tone flat. She stepped into the kitchen and took a knife from Lana’s trembling hand, the blade immediately moving with a steady, practiced rhythm across the cutting board.
Vanessa’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of suspicion sparking in the green depths. "Talk? About what? Why just you?"
Carmen didn’t look up from her task. "He wanted to know how we fared. He assessed our performance as a unit." The words were true, but only on the shallowest surface. It was a carefully constructed truth designed to deflect and protect.
She could feel Iris's silver eyes on her—a silent, calculating gaze that seemed to see right through the flimsy shield of her words. But the demi-human said nothing, her attention returning to the roasting meat.
Sarah leaned closer, her voice a near whisper. "It's alright, Carmen. You can tell us if he... touched you. We're all in this together."
Carmen gave her a slight, dismissive smile, the knife never stopping. "He didn't," she said, the word a final, sharp cut that ended that line of questioning.
Vanessa slammed her fist on the counter, the dull thud making the others jump. "This is bullshit!" she whispered dangerously. "Don't you dare protect him just because he talks to you like a person."
"Vanessa is right. I see his gaze on us. I know what men like him want," Sarah spoke up, her voice low. She looked at Carmen, ignoring Vanessa’s outburst as if it were a distraction from the real issue.
Carmen turned her head slowly, raising one eyebrow with clinical precision. "Is he the one that wants that, Sarah? Or is it you who wants to be wanted?"
"Wh—what?" Sarah looked at her, stunned. "Why would I want that! After everything—"
"Maybe you just want to feel something other than terror," Carmen said, turning back to the vegetables. The rhythmic thwack-thwack of the knife was the only sound for a long, heavy moment. "Maybe you think that if he wants you, you're safe. It’s a common survival mechanism."
Iris’s gaze flickered to Carmen for a split second—a subtle, almost imperceptible acknowledgment of the sharp-edged truth in her words. Then she went back to tending the fire.
The small kitchen fell into a tense, suffocating silence. Vanessa stared at Carmen, her fury momentarily defanged by the coldness of the observation. Carmen hadn't defended Searanox; she had simply dissected the group’s internal rot, exposing a raw nerve that none of them wanted to touch.
Sarah wrapped her arms around herself, her usual provocative confidence gone, replaced by a visibly trembling girl who looked like she wanted to disappear. Lana watched her, a flicker of pity crossing her face before being smothered by her own dread.
"Are we going to continue to behave like animals, or are we going to eat?" Iris’s voice cut through the air, low and sharp. She didn't look up from the stove, but the authority in her tone was absolute. "The stew is ready."
They ate in silence, the only sounds the clinking of spoons and the crackle of the hearth. The rich, dark stew was the best thing they had tasted since the world ended, a primal, grounding comfort that stood in stark, jarring conflict with the chilling emotional dynamics playing out at the table.