The rest of the night passed in uneasy quiet.

She stayed curled up in the corner of the bed, her thin frame hidden beneath the folds of the blanket. Every so often, her claws would twitch or scrape faintly against the fabric, her hooves shifting against the mattress as if she were ready to bolt.

I stayed in the chair, leaning back just enough to relax without dozing off completely. Sleep came in fits and starts, broken by flashes of fragmented dreams—shadows darting through the basement, the metallic tang of blood in the air, the glowing pink of her eyes cutting through the dark.

Each time I stirred awake, I glanced toward the bed to check if she was still there. She always was, her breathing even but shallow, her body coiled as if ready to spring at the slightest sound.

Despite the tension, the hours slipped by. Eventually, the dull hum of the ventilation system and the rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing lulled me into a deeper sleep.

The pounding on the door jolted me awake.

I shot upright in the chair, my heart racing as the sound reverberated through the small room. For a disoriented moment, I thought we were under attack. My hand instinctively went to the knife strapped to my thigh, my muscles tensing.

“Tats!” a voice bellowed from the other side of the door. “Wake up! Breakfast!”

My stomach twisted, the tension in my body shifting from fight-or-flight to weary irritation.

Before I could respond, I heard movement behind me—a sharp, panicked rustle of fabric, followed by the scrape of claws against metal.

I turned quickly to see her scrambling backward on the bed, the blanket falling away as she pressed herself into the corner of the room. Her pink eyes were wide and wild, darting frantically between me and the door.

“It’s okay,” I said immediately, raising my hands in a calming gesture. “It’s just the door. It’s someone outside.”

Her breathing was rapid and shallow, her claws flexing against the wall. A low growl rumbled from her throat, and her horns dipped slightly as if she was bracing for an attack.

The banging came again, louder this time. “Tats! You alive in there?”

She snarled, the sound sharp and guttural, and her claws scraped against the wall, leaving faint marks in the metal.

“Hey, look at me,” I said, keeping my voice low and steady. “It’s fine. No one’s coming in. I’ve got this.”

She didn’t relax. Her hooves scraped against the bed as she shifted, her posture rigid and defensive.

I stood slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. “I’ll handle it,” I said softly. “Just stay here. You’re safe.”

She didn’t respond, her glowing pink eyes fixed on the door as another loud knock rang through the room.

Crossing the small space quickly, I planted myself in front of the door and pressed the panel to open it.

The hallway light spilled in, glaring and bright after the dim confines of the room.

Reaper stood on the other side, his hulking frame filling the doorway. His casual clothes—a worn T-shirt and cargo pants—looked almost comically mundane on him, though the perpetual scowl on his face undercut any semblance of normalcy.

“Finally,” he grunted, crossing his arms. “You sleep through alarms now?”

I glanced back into the room. She was still crouched in the corner, her claws gripping the wall and her pink eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“She’s still in there?” Reaper asked, craning his neck to get a better look.

“She’s fine,” I said quickly, stepping into the doorway to block his view.

“Doesn’t look fine,” he muttered.

“I’ve got it under control,” I said flatly.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Breakfast in fifteen. Got some news for us all.”

“I’ll be there,” I said, my tone clipped.

Reaper leaned slightly to one side, his gaze darting past me. “You sure you’re okay in there? She looks ready to rip someone’s face off.”

“She’s just scared,” I said. “And I’ve got it handled.”

Reaper frowned but didn’t argue. “Your call. Just don’t let her eat you or something.”

“Thanks for the advice,” I said dryly.

He smirked faintly before turning and walking down the hallway, his boots clanging against the tiles.

I let out a slow breath, turning back toward the room.

The door slid shut behind me with a faint hiss, and I immediately heard her growl again.

“Hey,” I said, turning to face her. “It’s okay. He’s gone. No one’s coming in.”

She didn’t relax. Her claws flexed against the wall, and her breathing remained rapid and shallow.

I approached slowly, keeping my hands visible. “You’re safe,” I said softly. “It was just a friend. He’s not a threat.”

Her pink eyes snapped to me, sharp and wary. She didn’t move from the corner, her body still coiled like a spring.

“Listen,” I said, crouching a few feet away. “I know it’s loud here. I know it’s... different. But you’re not in danger. Not here.”

Her growling quieted slightly, though the tension in her posture didn’t ease.

“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you,” I continued. “I promise.”

Her claws twitched against the wall, leaving faint scratches in the metal.

I stayed where I was, letting the silence stretch between us. Slowly, her breathing began to slow, the wild edge in her eyes softening just enough to tell me she was starting to believe me.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

“That’s it,” I murmured. “You’re okay.”

She shifted slightly, her claws retracting as she pulled the blanket around her shoulders again. Her pink eyes remained fixed on me, cautious but less frantic.

“I have to go soon,” I said gently. “Just for a little while. But I’ll be back. You don’t have to leave this room. No one else will come in.”

Her head tilted slightly, her expression skeptical.

“I’ll bring you food,” I added. “Something real. Not those awful ration bars. Sound good?”

She didn’t respond, but her posture relaxed a fraction.

I stood slowly, watching her carefully. “I’ll be quick,” I said. “You’re safe here.”

Her claws gripped the blanket tightly, but she didn’t move as I turned toward the door. The hallway felt colder as I stepped out, the door hissing shut behind me.

Leaning against the wall for a moment, I exhaled slowly.

She wasn’t just scared—she was traumatized. The noise, the strangers, the unfamiliar environment... it was too much for her.

She needed somewhere quieter, somewhere calmer. My apartment wasn’t exactly luxurious, but it was private. I’d have to get her there soon—after breakfast, if I could manage it.

For now, though, the most I could do was make sure she had space to breathe.

Pushing off the wall, I headed toward the mess hall.

The mess hall was alive with the usual chaos—mercenaries laughing too loudly, boots scraping against the floor, the clatter of plates and mugs adding to the noise. The harsh fluorescent lights cast the room in a sterile glow, making the gray metal walls seem even more lifeless.

I made my way through the crowd, weaving past tables piled with trays of food and gear. The air was thick with the scent of something fried and overcooked, though my stomach growled despite the less-than-appetizing aroma.

Our squad had taken up a table near the far wall, tucked into a corner where they could keep an eye on the room. Reaper was seated at the head, datapad in hand, his sharp gaze darting between the screen and the rest of the table. Viper was beside him, their mohawk catching the light as they toyed with one of their daggers, flipping it idly between their fingers.

Watcher sat at the opposite end, a pile of disassembled drone parts spread out before it. Its hands moved with precise efficiency, carefully slotting a new component into place while its mismatched eyes—one natural, the other a glowing blue lens—remained fixed on the task.

“Morning,” I said, sliding into the seat across from Viper.

They glanced up, their dark eyes narrowing slightly before softening into a small smile. “Finally decided to show up, Tats?”

I rolled my eyes, reaching for the coffee pot in the center of the table. “I had a late night.”

“Taking care of the basement surprise, huh?” Viper asked, leaning forward slightly.

“Something like that,” I muttered, pouring the coffee.

“Where’s Breaker?” I asked, glancing at the empty chair beside me.

“Med bay,” Reaper said without looking up from his datapad. “They’re keeping him for observation after that hit he took. Should be back by tomorrow.”

“Good,” I said. “The squad doesn’t feel right without him.”

Watcher’s voice cut in, flat and precise. “He sustained significant blunt force trauma to the thoracic cavity. Medical protocol dictates a minimum recovery period of seventy-two hours for injuries of that nature.”

I nodded, not bothering to respond. Watcher wasn’t the type to need acknowledgment—it simply stated facts and moved on.

“You didn’t tell us you were keeping the demon,” Viper said, tilting their head.

“It’s not like I had much of a choice,” I said. “Command shoved the responsibility onto me, and I wasn’t about to leave her with those assholes in the med bay.”

Viper’s expression softened slightly, their hand stilling on the dagger. “How is she?”

I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the mug. “Feral. Scared. But alive.”

“That’s something,” Viper said quietly.

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor drew my attention. A man I hadn’t seen before sat down at the table, his tray clattering as he dropped it onto the surface. He was tall and wiry, with a sharp, angular face and a mop of unkempt brown hair. His uniform was pristine, the fabric pressed and unwrinkled in a way that screamed “new recruit.”

“Who’s this?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Paul,” the man said, his voice clipped and curt. “The medic.”

“Paul?” Viper repeated, arching a brow. “No callsign yet?”

“Not yet,” Reaper said, setting down his datapad. “He’s green.”

Paul’s gaze flicked to me, his expression cool and assessing. “You’re the one keeping the demon, aren’t you?”

I stiffened, my jaw tightening. “She’s not a demon. She’s a succubus.”

“Same thing,” Paul said dismissively, cutting into the pile of eggs on his plate. “You realize how dangerous that is, right? Keeping one of those things around?”

“Careful, Paul,” Viper said, their tone sharp. “You’re talking about one of ours.”

Paul snorted. “I’m talking about a non-human parasite. If it’s not leeching off you now, it will be soon enough.”

“She’s not a parasite,” I said coldly. “And I’m not interested in your opinion.”

“Doesn’t matter if you are or not,” Paul said, shrugging. “The fact is, things like that don’t belong in civilized places. They’re dangerous, and they don’t know how to be anything else.”

The table fell silent. Even Watcher paused in its tinkering, its mismatched eyes flicking between Paul and me.

“Are you done?” I asked, my voice low.

Paul smirked faintly, but Reaper cut in before he could respond. “That’s enough,” Reaper said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Paul muttered something under his breath but went back to his food.

The tension lingered as we ate, though the conversation drifted toward lighter topics. Viper recounted a previous mission involving a faulty teleportation spell with exaggerated flair, earning a few chuckles from the table. Watcher, ever methodical, detailed potential drone upgrades, though much of the technical jargon went over my head.

Eventually, Reaper cleared his throat, setting his fork down. “Let’s get to it. Mission payout’s been adjusted. Command docked us because the extraction target was dead before we arrived.”

“That’s bullshit,” Viper said immediately, their mohawk buns bobbing as they leaned forward. “We didn’t extract him because he was already dead, but we still cleared the building. Hell, we did them a favor.”

“Command doesn’t see it that way,” Reaper said. “Their contract stated retrieval, not cleanup.”

“It’s always something,” I muttered, taking another sip of coffee.

“Unfortunately,” Reaper said, his tone dry. “But we’ve been through worse. This isn’t the first time they’ve screwed us, and it won’t be the last.”

The others murmured in agreement, their frustration palpable but resigned.

As the conversation waned, Viper turned to me. “So, Tats,” they began, their tone light but curious, “what’s the plan for your new friend?”

“She’s not my friend,” I said, though the words felt hollow.

“You know what I mean.” They smirked. “You’re taking her home, right?”

I nodded. “After I finish the paperwork and get her chipped.”

“Chipped?” Viper frowned.

“Standard protocol,” I said. “Command requires it for all non-human assets. They won’t let her leave the facility without it.”

Viper’s expression darkened, but they didn’t argue.

“After that,” I continued, “I’m taking her to my apartment. She needs somewhere quiet to recover. This place is too loud, too chaotic. It’s not good for her.”

Viper nodded approvingly, their eyes softening. “Good. She deserves that much, at least.”

Paul let out a derisive snort but didn’t say anything, though his disapproval hung in the air like a bad smell.

Ignoring him, I stood, grabbing an empty plate. “I’m taking this back to her. Someone has to make sure she eats.”

“Soft,” Viper teased, though their smile was warm.

“Practical,” I corrected, heading toward the food line.

I piled the plate with eggs, toast, and a few strips of bacon—simple but filling. As I left the mess hall, I could feel the eyes of other mercenaries on me, their whispers trailing in my wake.

“Is that for the demon?”

“Raku’s soft. Always knew they were weird.”

“Bet they’re keeping it as a pet.”

I ignored them, my grip tightening on the plate as I made my way back to my quarters.

The door hissed shut behind me, sealing us away from the noise of the facility.

She was exactly where I’d left her, crouched in the corner of the bed with the blanket draped around her shoulders. Her pink eyes locked onto me the moment I entered, sharp and watchful, but she didn’t growl this time.

“I’m back,” I said softly, holding up the plate. “Like I promised.”

Her eyes flicked to the food, then back to me, her claws flexing against the edge of the blanket.

I crossed the room slowly, setting the plate down on the desk and stepping back to give her space. “It’s all for you,” I said. “You don’t have to fight me for it.”

She didn’t move right away. Her pink eyes darted between me and the plate, her expression unreadable.

“It’s okay,” I murmured, sitting down in the chair by the desk. “Take your time.”

Her claws twitched again, and she shifted slightly, the blanket slipping from one shoulder as she leaned forward. Her movements were slow, deliberate, like a predator stalking uncertain prey.

When she finally reached the plate, she sniffed it cautiously, her pink eyes narrowing as she studied the food.

“It’s safe,” I said. “No tricks.”

She glanced at me, her expression skeptical, before picking up a piece of toast. Her claws sliced through the bread as she gripped it, but she didn’t seem to care.

She ate quickly, tearing through the food with sharp, jerky motions. It was messy and almost violent, crumbs scattering across the desk and floor, but I didn’t say anything.

Let her eat. Let her feel like she could take what she needed without fear of someone snatching it away.