The sudden warp of air smelled faintly like ozone and tension. Idalia blinked once and then twice before she landed on the floor of Rhaya's quarters with a soft thump. The headphones over the woman's ears didn't register the subtle tremor in the room until a low, guttural snarl drew Rhaya's gaze upward.

  "—What the—?!" Rhaya yanked the headphones off, hair braids falling over one shoulder. Her eyes squinted, scanning the room for the source of the intrusion. "Idalia!"

  Idalia's frill flicked in delight. She crouched low, tail curling behind her, paws pounding against the floor as she advanced.

  "I smelled you," she declared, nose twitching. Rhaya's scent clung to every surface. "And this den… it's all yours?"

  Rhaya, still recovering from the sudden portal entry, froze. She wore loose, casual clothing—a long-sleeve shirt and joggers—and the room reflected her personality: subdued, organized, but… alive.

  Idalia's attention snagged on the strange paperless book glowing on the table. A slim beam of light shone from the upper edge of its face, illuminating a board filled with neat squares that shimmered whenever touched. Nearby lay stacked papers, folders, and a dark, glossy box labeled "audio equipment"—though Idalia had no idea what that meant.

  "You have… so many things," she said, eyes dilating as she prowled in a slow circle. "What do they do?"

  Rhaya slapped a hand against her bedding. "Idalia, I'm… tuned in. I was listening—" She gestured vaguely to the headphones still hanging around her neck. "—and now you just… teleport into my room?"

  Idalia tilted her head, sniffing the air as she pawed at a small stack of notebooks. One toppled to the floor, then another. She batted at the edge of a cylindrical device that hummed faintly. "What is this smell? Why does it buzz like that?"

  Rhaya stood at last, stooping to gather her belongings. "You've really never seen a room before, have you? Like, a dorm? A normal living space?"

  "No dorm," Idalia said matter-of-factly. replied matter-of-factly. She perched atop the scattered papers, sniffing at the warm air rising from the desk. "Only the ship, arenas, the courts, hallways… sometimes corridors smell interesting."

  Her tail swept sideways, knocking over a tall cup of pens with a metallic clatter. "Everything here smells… awake," she said. She pointed at the tall, glossy boxes humming faintly in the corner. "Why do those speak—or fail to speak?"

  Rhaya opened her mouth to warn her, but Idalia was already bounding forward, tackling one of the strange black boxes. It toppled with a pathetic groan and went silent as its dangling cord snapped free.

  "My speaker!" Rhaya yelped. "This is why I don't do pets." She turned away, dropping into a chair that—unexpectedly—twisted beneath her.

  Her back was exposed. Idalia's instincts purred at the opportunity.

  Rhaya pinched the bridge of her nose, typing rapidly on a glowing screen built into a thick, book-like contraption at her desk. The squares clacked sharply under her fingers. "You're… messing up the vibe," she muttered, her voice low and irritated.

  "Vibe?" Idalia asked, her pupils narrowing to vertical slits. She leaned closer, sniffing at the equipment. Towering black speakers, coiled cables, flat touchpads and circular discs with spinning surfaces—so many unfamiliar objects, each humming with its own faint vibration. "What do these do?"

  "They make music," Rhaya said, exasperated. "Sometimes they work when they're connected to my computer." She tapped the thick, glowing book. "And if you break this, I will absolutely fight you."

  That, finally, made sense.

  [Knowledge Core [D]: 43% → 44%]

  The thick book wasn't a book at all—it was something more, something with a relationship to sound itself. But why?

  "Sounds. Beats. You… don't touch anything."

  "Music. Beats. You…" Rhaya pointed sharply. "Don't touch anything."

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Idalia blinked slowly—and then, with a fluid, lazy grace, settled herself directly atop the desk. It groaned under her weight but held. She planted herself squarely in front of the glowing screen, the warm light shimmering across her fur and scales. Her claws hovered dangerously above the neat little squares—Rhaya's face contorted as though she were about to faint.

  "Music? Beats?" Idalia asked. "Are they… part of your ability?"

  Rhaya froze mid-typing. Half of the text on her screen vanished. She exhaled slowly, adjusting her posture so she could glare upward without losing her composure. "No, Idalia. They are not part of my ability. And yes, I'm aware you've never seen anything like this before, but—"

  "Then explain! How do you do it?" Idalia's voice dipped into an insistent growl as she leaned forward, sniffing the air near Rhaya's headphones. "Your moves, the space… it bends! I saw it! The shimmer, the light, the rhythm! You—how—tell me!"

  Rhaya, one hand still resting on the keyboard beneath the improvised feline throne, rubbed her temples. "I told you, you're disturbing my vibe! You do not get a private concert just because you are curious."

  Idalia's frill twitched. She sat more solidly against the glowing surface, tail curling like a spring, claws tapping. "Then make it a lesson! Show me!"

  Rhaya's sigh was audible, sharp and weary. "Lessons don't happen by climbing onto my computer, you ridiculous dragon."

  Idalia purred softly, leaning her head closer to the headphones. "Then why do you wear them? What's happening? Why does the air move when you do that thing? It's similar to the waves that vibrates from your ear cups—and the speakers!"

  Surprisingly Rhaya's glare softened just slightly. "The air doesn't move, you brute. I move it. I control rhythm, flow… energy. Music helps. Focus helps. You… wouldn't understand."

  "I understand curiosity. That is enough. I want… to seeit. Explain. Show. Demonstrate." Idalia's tail swished impatiently, brushing against a small speaker.

  Before Rhaya could gather enough patience—or oxygen—to continue her explanation, Idalia's attention snapped to a small, smooth object resting beside the glowing book. It was shaped somewhat like a curled creature: rounded back, soft slope toward a tapered end, two buttons that clicked when pressed. And it smelled interesting.

  Idalia's pupils blown wide. Something in the object's scent tickled her instincts. Faint oils. Dust. The ghost of Rhaya's touch. A whisper of warmed plastic.

  Her nostrils flared. Then she pounced.

  "Mouse!"

  "Idalia—don't—!"

  Too late.

  She snatched the object off the desk with both paws, lifted it to her mouth, and—without hesitation—bit down.

  There was a sharp crk! as her teeth pierced the smooth outer shell. A burst of tiny components shattered between her teeth: brittle plastic, metallic flecks, the dry crunch of something like sand glued together. A faint, unpleasant bitterness bloomed on her tongue—acrid, synthetic, tinged with the coppery hint of circuitry. It was not food. It was not remotely food.

  Idalia chewed anyway. "Hm. Crunchy."

  Rhaya made a sound between a gasp, a groan, and the emotional death of a thousand tiny hopes. "Idalia. That is not crunchy—it's a mouse!"

  "A what?! This is no mouse—mice bleed." Idalia's frills snapped upright. She spat out a piece of the casing.

  "No, no—oh my—" Rhaya buried her face in her hands. "It's a computer mouse. It controls the cursor. It's how I click on things. You just—" She pointed at Idalia's mouth, horrified. "You ate it!"

  Idalia blinked innocently, then rolled the gritty fragments over her tongue before swallowing with a thoughtful hum. "Well… your mouse did not flee. It merely accepted its fate."

  "That's because it's not alive!"

  Idalia shrugged, licking a bit of adhesive residue from her teeth. "Still crunchy."

  Rhaya sat stiffly, staring at the half-devoured remains in Idalia's paw as if they were pieces of her sanity. "…Do you have any idea how annoying it is to replace a custum-designed mouse?"

  "Is there another I may hunt? Perhaps one with more flavor?" Idalia tilted her head, licking her chops.

  "No!"

  "I liked the texture."

  "Idalia, please. Please. Do. Not. Eat. My. Equipment."

  Idalia pouted, her tail curling around her ankles. "Your den is full of delicious mysteries. How do you expect me not to taste them?"

  "Because—because they're electronics!" Rhaya sputtered, palms raised in despair. "They shock, break, explode—"

  "That one did not explode." Idalia held up the remaining piece proudly. "I would have tasted that."

  Rhaya stared at her as though genuinely reconsidering her life choices. "…We need rules."

  "Rules about eating?"

  "Yes."

  Idalia leaned forward, "Then teach me."

  Rhaya exhaled the longest sigh in recorded history. "First rule: if it's in my room, and it doesn't have a heartbeat, don't put it in your mouth."

  Idalia nodded solemnly—then flicked her tongue against a loose shard of plastic on the desk just to watch Rhaya twitch.

  "You're impossible. You literally teleport into people's rooms to interrogate them."

  "I'm learning. And you're my prey… sort of. For information."

  Rhaya rolled her eyes, tapping one key with a finger that didn't even press fully. The computer beeped in protest beneath her weight. "If you sit on my tech one more time, I swear—"

  Idalia tilted her head. "Then you will demonstrate?"

  "Demonstrate," Rhaya said carefully, now abandoning her attempt to work and just watching a Liorex. "I'll demonstrate. But not until you get off my desk, furball."

  Idalia stretched, claws curling over the edge of the glowing screen. "Then I shall sit until you do. I have patience… mostly."

  Rhaya exhaled, headphones dangling around her neck. "…I hate you already."

  "Good. You'll teach me better that way. Explain. Why does it bend?"

  The woman stared. Something about the way Idalia sensed the "bend" unsettled Rhaya—most creatures couldn't see it at all. "Those eyes of yours... they're very strange. Vestella mentioned that they're patterned like a peculiar subspecies of Liorex. You're not a Microrex by any chance?"