I woke before my rest cycle ended, my thoughts still busy with our new arrival. He hadn't appeared at breakfast by the time Oren came to fetch me for our morning walk.

"Larkin has requested exercise privileges," Brons announced. "His protocol requires daily running."

Running? I tried to imagine such vigorous movement in our careful halls. Even Rashala's rages were contained things, bursts of violence in small spaces.

"Voidhold Four maintained different standards of physical conditioning," Oren explained, taking my hand. "We have designated a route for him."

"Does Mother know?" I couldn't imagine her reaction to such unseemly exertion.

"She was informed," Brons said. "The protocol was approved."

I wondered if she had truly understood what "exercise privileges" meant. In our voidhold, we moved with deliberate grace: Mother's slow glide, Father's shuffling confusion, Rashala's flopping. Even I, who walked miles with Oren each day, never moved with vigour. "May we observe?" I asked, keeping my voice carefully neutral.

Oren considered this, its fingers making small adjustments against my hand. "Your protocol permits it."

And so we paused our morning walk near Junction 35, where multiple corridors converged.

"Why does he need to run?" I asked as we waited.

"Exercise maintains optimal human function," Oren replied. "Voidhold Four's protocols emphasise physical conditioning to fully exploit every survival chance." Its fingers twitched against mine. "Shade, I note that you are being oddly curious."

Before I could deny this, footsteps echoed from the lower corridor. Larkin appeared, following Ecru, one of the older functionaries. Sweat darkened his clothes, but his breathing was steady. He moved like someone used to fighting gravity itself, each step precisely placed.

When they reached the far corridor, Larkin stopped suddenly, crouching to adjust something on his foot. Ecru moved to steady him. The motion was helpful, almost gentle, but Larkin's reaction was immediate. His hands clenched and his shoulders hunched, though his face remained carefully neutral.

Ecru withdrew, clicking softly. Larkin straightened, his composure perfect once more, but I had seen his pure, raw panic. Whatever life he had led on Voidhold Four, it had taught him to expect pain from metal hands.

Oren stepped forward, pulling me along. "Newcomer," it said. "Have you recovered from your journey?"'

Larkin gave a quick bow. "The facilities here are impressive," he said.

"Our nutrition centre is nearby," Oren said. "Would you like to see it?"

"Yes," said Larkin. "I would."

✾

The temperature dropped several degrees as we entered the nutrition centre. Its rich atmosphere had a perpetual backdrop of sound: the soft whirr of filtration pumps, the rhythmic drip of nutrient feeds, and the occasional hiss of pressure releases. Metal walls housed rows of gleaming vats. Numbered containers held liquids in shades of amber and pale green, each connected to a network of tubes that climbed the walls like mechanical vines before disappearing into vents near the ceiling. The air was sharp with the smell of sanitization protocols, underlaid with the sweet, artificial scent of protein synthesis.

Larkin's careful composure slipped as we entered. Though his shoulders remained squared and his steps measured, his eyes darted between systems with barely concealed hunger. I watched as he tracked the paths of pipes and conduits, his gaze following each connection point, each junction, each pressure valve. When he reached the calibration displays, his fingers twitched at his sides before he clasped them behind his back, as if physically restraining himself from touching the controls. The intensity of his focus contrasted jarringly with his deliberately casual stance.

Oren followed us, its metallic footsteps creating a deliberate echo. It released my hand to allow me movement, but its presence was still the heavy, especially near crucial systems. Its attention spiked every time Larkin moved toward a control panel.

"All this to feed the four of you?" he asked. His practised indifference reminded me of Rashala trying to appear uninterested in Father's gifts. Both put on a mask that only highlighted what lay beneath.

"The functionaries manage all nutritional requirements," I said, puzzled by his question.

"I see," he said, letting his fingers touch the edge of a control panel. He pulled them back quickly when it chirped in response. "Different from Voidhold Four," he said quietly. "We lost our automated systems in the accident. Everything there is so much cruder."

"What did you eat there?"

He offered me a bleak smile. "Let's just say that I grew fond of the crust that formed on the boiling pans. It at least had texture."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I just looked aside.

"Are you here to 'entertain your new acquisition'?" he asked suddenly. I recognized Mother's phrasing. It sounded strange coming from him.

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"No," I said. "I am on our morning rounds."

“And should I worry about your sister? She seems nervous."

"She is unused to change."

"And you?" His eyes found mine. "How do you feel about change?"

Nothing in our voidhold ever truly changed. Then my thoughts went to the White Room, of Commander Sentix frozen in his endless poses. He was changed every month.

"I observe it," I said.

His lips curved slightly. "Yes," he said. "I believe you do." He turned back to the displays, his expression thoughtful. "Your sister told me you were cursed," he said. "That your face brings misfortune. Your mother said it more elegantly, something about a mark of ill fate." His voice held no judgement. "What really happened?"

I returnef his gaze. "Some things are not discussed."

"No," he agreed, studying me. "And yet you see everything, don't you?"

I said nothing, but he must have found something encouraging in my silence.

"I have brought gifts," he continued, his voice dropping. "My dowry from Voidhold Four." His grey eyes were intense. "When they arrive, I may need someone who can help ensure they're...properly received."

There were words beneath his words, but I could not begin to read them. It reminded me of the functionaries' clicking language and they way I caught fragments, sparks of protocols and permissions, the web of phrases that maintained our voidhold.

“Yes,” I said.

Behind us, Oren moved to check the nutrition readouts, its clicks a gentle reminder of constant surveillance. Larkin straightened, his mask of polite interest settling back into place.

"Thank you for showing me this place," he said formally. "It's good to know what resources are available."

I wondered what he really meant by resources. The automated systems, the complex infrastructure, or me?

✾

Larkin and Ecru left us to complete their circuit. As they disappeared around the curve of the corridor, I thought about how large his new quarters had seemed to him. "Will he run every day?" I asked.

"Yes," said Oren. "It is part of his protocol."

"And will you help me observe him again?"

Oren was quiet for a moment, its face making those tiny shifts that meant it was processing something complex. "Your interest in the new human is noted."

"For Mother," I murmured. "She will want to know his habits."

"Of course." Oren's tone suggested it knew better. "Shall we proceed with our morning tasks?"

We turned away from the alcove, my steps matching Oren's familiar rhythm as we continued towards the aerostatic controls. The corridors here were dimmer than the ones near the thren, their shadows deeper. As we approached the next junction, something flickered in the darkness ahead, and there was fast, sharp tapping sound.

My breath caught. Oren stopped.

A sleek machine was waiting up ahead. It was angular and silver, with a hard chassis. It looked out of place in our voidhold. Hard and precise, predatory, with two sensor eyes that glowed an aggressive red. Even the way it held itself spoke of barely contained violence.

“What is that?” I whispered.

"It is a functionary," said Oren. Then it stilled as it exchanged information with the strange functionary. Its hand tightened slightly around mine.

"Designation PQ9," Oren continued. "It was attached to Larkin's shuttle and is a component of his personal protocols and must be present to approve his joining with Rashala. It will remain with us until Larkin’s Voidhold Four protocol lapses. It should dismantle itself in approximately three days."

I was glad that my veil hid most of my shock. "I've never seen a functionary like that before."

"Other voidholds maintain different standards." Oren's voice carried an unusual flatness, and its fingers curled more securely around mine. "Come, Shade. We shall continue our rounds. The matrimonial ceremony is scheduled for this afternoon, and we are behind schedule."

✾

The dress Redd gave me was stiff and made of a fabric as dark red as my veil but otherwise unlike anything I had worn before. Mother had ordered it specially because "even you must be dressed properly."

I waited in the thren while the functionaries rearranged our familiar space into something alien and ceremonial.

They pushed back the furniture to create a perfect hexagon marked by subtle lights in the floor. At each point, a functionary stood motionless, their metal bodies reflecting the light. Yeller took its position at the apex, its single eye glowing bright yellow. Beside it stood the Voidhold Four functionary PQ9. It was an even more menacing figure in the ceremonial setting, its sparse frame and sharp angles a stark contrast to our familiar functionaries' bodies.

Mother swept in wearing her finest clothes, her face glowing. She positioned herself within the hexagon, then gestured for Father to join her. He shuffled in, Vilett hovering close behind. He looked presentable, but the altered spac was already worrying him.

Then Rashala entered. My sister was transformed, her usual restless energy contained within layers of shimmering fabric, her hair arranged in complex patterns. Followed by Brons, she moved to the centre of the hexagon with careful steps.

When Larkin appeared in the doorway, everything changed.

He saw PQ9 and stopped dead, his careful composure shattered, his face drained of colour, his body tensing. For a moment, I thought he would turn and run.

"Proceed," PQ9 commanded, its voice harsh and metallic.

Larkin he forced himself forward, going straight to PQ9 and dropping into a deep bow, his whole body trembling. Mother nodded, clearly interpreting this as proper ceremony. The functionaries positioned Larkin and Rashala facing each other in the center of their geometric formation. My sister suddenly became brittle and uncertain. She kept glancing at Mother, seeking guidance, but Mother's attention was fixed on the proceedings.

"Commence validation sequence," Yeller announced. Two slim probes emerged from recessed panels in the floor, their tips gleaming. Larkin extended his arm without hesitation. Rashala watched in alarm as the probes drew blood, but she copied his gesture when Yeller turned its eye toward her.

Father began to weep quietly, perhaps remembering his own ceremony, and Vilett led him away. No one else seemed to notice.

The functionaries' clicking language filled the air as they processed the samples. Mother's smile grew sharp.

"Genetic variance confirmed," Yeller announced. "Compatibility protocols engaged."

"Proceed with binding," PQ9 added, its red sensors fixed on Larkin.

The functionaries moved with precise coordination around Rashala and Larkin, their clicking language rising to a fevered pitch. I wondered what protocols were being exchanged, what permissions granted and rescinded. This was the real ceremony -- an invisible architecture of authority being rebuilt around them.

"Protocols merged," Yeller intoned. "Authority transferred."

"Compliance mandatory," PQ9 added, its harsh voice carrying an edge of threat that made Larkin flinch.

The ceremony was brief, mechanical, devoid of any human ritual or sentiment. Just metal bodies moving in programmed patterns, ancient code passing between them as they redrew the boundaries of our careful world. At last, the newly joined couple was led away to their quarters, the finest in our voidhold.

I remained in the thren long after everyone had gone. The functionaries had already restored our familiar space, erasing all traces of the ceremony. Rashala and Larkin's quarters lay behind sealed doors. My sister had followed her new husband eagerly, perhaps already planning how to shape him to her desires.

In the silence, I heard the distant sound of metal footsteps. PQ9 was still here, pacing the thren, watching and waiting. And suddenly, I understood.

Larkin hadn't just brought a dowry, he'd brought his own jailer.