The hallways were quieter now, the usual bustle of the facility winding down as the evening shift took over. The hum of distant machinery filled the silence, punctuated only by the soft clink of her hooves against the tile as we walked. The few people we passed gave us curious looks, their gazes lingering just a second too long, but no one said anything.

The succubus stayed close to my side, her claws brushing against my arm every so often as if to make sure I was still there. Her pink eyes darted to every shadow, her tail swishing behind her in sharp, nervous arcs. Every sound made her flinch, her steps faltering before she quickly caught up again.

When we reached my quarters, I keyed the door open and stepped inside, gesturing for her to follow. She stopped in the doorway, her pink eyes narrowing as she scanned the room with the wariness of someone expecting a trap. Her claws flexed against her palms, and her tail lashed sharply against the frame.

“It’s safe,” I said, stepping further inside to give her space. “No one else is coming in.”

She tilted her head, the faint glow in her eyes flickering as she glanced from the narrow bed to the desk, then back to me. She stayed where she was, her hooves clicking softly as she shifted her weight.

The door hissed shut behind her, and she flinched, spinning to face it with a low growl.

“It’s just the door,” I said quickly, holding up a hand. “It’s automatic. No one’s coming in unless I let them.”

Her growling didn’t stop immediately, but it softened as she turned back toward the room. The tension in her posture didn’t ease, though—her claws remained half-raised, her body coiled tight as if ready to spring at the slightest provocation.

The room was small and bare, like most quarters in the facility. A narrow bed was pushed against one wall, its blanket neatly tucked. A metal storage locker sat in the corner, and a small desk with a chair occupied the opposite side of the room. No personal touches, no decorations—just the essentials.

“It’s not fancy,” I said, crossing to the storage locker. “But it’s quiet. And it’s private.”

She didn’t respond, her pink eyes fixed on the bed like it was some kind of alien object. Her tail flicked sharply again, brushing against the wall.

I pulled out a loose shirt and a pair of sweatpants, holding them up for her to see. “These probably won’t fit great,” I admitted, setting them on the bed. “But it’s better than nothing.”

She tilted her head slightly, her expression flickering between suspicion and curiosity. Her claws twitched faintly as she took a small, cautious step toward the bed.

“Go ahead,” I said, moving back toward the desk to give her room. “They’re for you.”

Her hooves clicked softly against the floor as she approached the bed. She crouched low, her claws brushing the fabric of the clothes before pulling back sharply as though they might bite her. Her pink eyes darted toward me, sharp and accusatory.

“They won’t hurt you,” I said, resting my elbows on my knees. “You can change here. I won’t look.”

Her glare deepened, her her tail thumping against the floor, and for a moment, I thought she might lash out. Instead, she let out a sharp huff and snatched the shirt, retreating to the far corner of the room with quick, jerky movements.

I turned my gaze to the desk, keeping my back to her. The rustling of fabric and occasional frustrated growls told me she was struggling, but I didn’t interfere. Letting her figure it out on her own felt like the right call—forcing help on her now would only make things worse.

When the noises stopped, I glanced over my shoulder. She stood near the corner, the oversized shirt hanging awkwardly off her thin frame, the sweatpants bunched around her ankles. The towel was still draped over her shoulders like a cloak, her claws clutching it tightly. Her pink eyes glared at me, daring me to comment.

“You look fine,” I said simply, turning back to the desk.

She didn’t respond, but the tension in her shoulders eased by the smallest fraction. She shifted slightly, her hooves clinking against the floor as she adjusted the towel.

“You can stay here,” I said, leaning back in the chair. “The bed’s yours if you want it.”

Her gaze flicked toward the bed, then back to me. She didn’t move, her claws digging into the fabric of the towel.

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“I know you don’t trust me,” I added softly. “That’s okay. But no one else is coming in here. This is your space too now.”

Her pink eyes lingered on me for a moment before drifting back to the bed. She edged closer to it slowly, her tail swishing low against the floor. When she reached the edge, she crouched again, sniffing the mattress cautiously.

“It’s safe,” I murmured. “I promise.”

She didn’t respond, but after a long pause, she pulled herself onto the bed. She didn’t lie down, but she curled her legs beneath her and draped the towel tightly around her shoulders, her claws digging lightly into the blanket.

The small motion of her settling on the bed felt like progress, even if her posture remained tense. Her pink eyes scanned the room again, sharp and searching, but the wildness that had burned in them earlier had dimmed.

“It’s a start,” I said softly to myself, leaning back in the chair.

She didn’t react, but the way her claws loosened slightly against the blanket told me she’d heard. Her breathing, though still uneven, slowed just a little as she adjusted the towel around her shoulders, her tail swishing quietly on the blanket beneath her.

For a few minutes, I stayed silent, letting the quiet stretch between us. The hum of the ventilation system filled the room, a faint, steady rhythm that felt more like white noise than an intrusion. She stayed perched on the edge of the bed, her tail curling loosely around one leg, her pink eyes occasionally flicking toward me.

“You don’t have to sleep if you’re not ready,” I said, breaking the silence gently. “But you can rest. No one’s going to bother you.”

Her gaze lingered on me for a moment before shifting toward the floor. Her claws flexed faintly, curling and uncurling, but she didn’t move.

Time stretched, but the tension in the room didn’t dissipate completely. I could see her watching every small movement I made, her pink eyes sharp and unyielding. When I leaned forward slightly, reaching for the storage locker, her claws tensed, digging into the fabric of the blanket.

“You’re probably hungry,” I said softly, keeping my movements slow. “I’ll grab something to eat. Just food, okay?”

Her tail flicked once, sharply, as if to remind me she was still on edge. But she didn’t growl this time, and she didn’t bolt when I opened the locker.

Inside was the usual fare—rations that were more functional than appetizing. I grabbed a bar, tearing it open as I returned to the desk.

“This isn’t much,” I said, holding it up for her to see. “But it’ll help. Watch.”

I bit off a piece, chewing deliberately before setting the bar on the desk in clear view. “See? It’s safe.”

Her pink eyes flicked to the bar, then back to me. She didn’t move, but her claws flexed against the blanket, betraying her internal struggle.

“You don’t have to take it,” I said. “But it’s here if you want it.”

The silence between us stretched, thick with uncertainty. I stayed still, letting her make the decision on her own. She shifted slightly, her hooves clicking softly against the floor as she adjusted her position. Her gaze darted back to the bar, lingering this time.

When she finally moved, it was with a predator’s caution. She uncurled from the bed, her claws brushing against the mattress as she stretched her legs forward. Her tail swayed low, close to the floor, as she leaned toward the desk. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as though testing the boundaries of what I’d allow.

I didn’t move. I barely even breathed.

Her claws hovered over the bar for a long moment before she snatched it, retreating to the bed in a single, fluid motion. She tore into the ration with sharp, jerky movements, her pink eyes darting toward me every few seconds as she ate.

“Good,” I murmured. “See? It’s just food.”

She didn’t respond, but the way she finished it quickly, licking the crumbs from her claws, told me she needed it more than she’d admit.

“You’ll need more than that,” I said. “But it’s a start.”

She curled back onto the bed, the towel shifting slightly as she settled into the blanket. Her claws flexed faintly, but her posture was looser now, her movements less rigid. The glow in her pink eyes dimmed slightly as she glanced at me, her expression guarded but less hostile.

The hours passed slowly. She didn’t speak, didn’t move much, but her breathing eventually evened out, the tension in her frame softening bit by bit. She stayed perched on the edge of the bed, her tail draped across her legs, her claws resting lightly against the blanket. Her pink eyes remained half-lidded, scanning the room intermittently, but the wild edge was gone.

I stayed in the chair, my muscles aching from the day’s strain but unwilling to leave her unsupervised. Every now and then, she shifted, her ears twitching faintly at the sound of footsteps in the hallway or the distant clang of boots on metal.

“It’s not much,” I said softly, breaking the quiet. “But it’s better than the medbay.”

She didn’t answer, but the way her tail swayed faintly told me she’d heard.

I let out a quiet sigh, leaning back. “Tomorrow, we’ll figure out something better. Somewhere safer. But tonight, you can stay here.”

Her pink eyes flicked toward me, sharp and assessing. She didn’t respond, but she didn’t look away either.

Eventually, she settled fully into the bed, her small frame curling under the blanket as her breathing slowed. Her claws stopped fidgeting, and her tail stilled, curling loosely around one leg. She didn’t fall asleep—not completely—but the tension in her body eased enough to let me believe she was close.

For a long time, I just watched her, my own exhaustion pressing heavily against my chest. The small clock on the wall ticked past midnight, the quiet rhythm merging with the faint hum of the ventilation system.

Tomorrow would bring its own challenges. There were still questions to answer—about her, about what she needed, about how to help her survive in a world that saw her as little more than a tool. But those questions could wait. For now, she was here. She was safe.

That was enough.

I leaned back in the chair, letting my eyes drift shut. Sleep crept in slowly, dragging me under despite the ache in my back and the weight in my thoughts.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was something.