Chapter 9: The Corporate Interrogation
The corporate men moved through the mud with the delicate disdain of cats avoiding a puddle. There were three of them. The one in front, a man with hair so precisely grey it looked painted on, held the clipboard. His name, he’d said, was Mr. Armitage. The other two flanked him like wary shadows, their eyes not on the people, but on the assets—the machinery, the stacked timber, the topography of the scarred land.
Armitage stopped before Kaelen. His gaze was a slow, sweeping inventory: the boots caked in dry mud, the heavy work pants, the sling stark against the dark flannel, the long black hair tied back, the violet eyes watching him with a neutral, waiting focus. It lingered longest on the folded wings, restrained by canvas and shirt, and the subtle, restless twitch of the prehensile tail tip in the churned earth.
“Kaelen Thorson.” Armitage stated it, didn’t ask. His voice was dry, devoid of inflection.
“Yes.”
“Lead Foreman Markus’s incident report cites you as the primary witness and… beneficiary… of what he’s termed a ‘sudden ground failure.’” Armitage’s eyes flicked down to his clipboard, then back up, pinning Kaelen. “You sustained the injury escaping the collapse.”
Inside the warm, dark pouch, Liam felt the fine tremor that ran through the massive muscle of Kaelen’s throat. It wasn’t fear. It was the strain of absolute control.
“That’s correct,” Kaelen said. His voice was a low, even rumble, giving nothing away.
“Describe the event. From your position prior to the failure.”
Kaelen did. He kept it clean, technical. The sound, the shudder, the jump. He omitted the scream of roots, the smell of wet earth giving way, the heart-stopping lurch of freefall. He made it sound like a simple safety drill gone right.
One of the other men, younger, with sharp, acquisitive eyes, spoke up. “Your file notes you possess enhanced physical capabilities. Reflexes. Strength. Would you say these contributed to your ability to… evade… the incident?”
The phrasing was a trap, wrapped in sterile curiosity. Kaelen’s tail went perfectly still.
“My reflexes helped me move when the ground stopped being ground. My strength didn’t factor in. Nothing to push against.” He paused, letting the simplicity of the physics hang in the air. “Anyone standing where I was would have fallen. Anyone with working legs could have jumped.”
Armitage made a note. The sound of the pen was absurdly loud. “The report suggests the failure was localized, immediate. No prior signs of instability.”
“No signs I noticed. The ground was ground. Then it was a hole.”
“And your current capacity? The wing.”
“Doctor says four to six weeks. Light duty now.” Kaelen gestured with his chin toward a pile of stripped branches. “I can sort. I can guide. I can’t carry.”
The third man finally spoke, his voice softer, but his eyes were on the sling’s construction. “That’s a professional rig. Custom?”
Kaelen felt a new, different tension—protective, secretive. “Made to fit. Wings aren’t standard issue.”
A faint, almost imperceptible press from inside the pouch. Steady.
“Evidently.” The man’s gaze lifted to Kaelen’s face, probing. “Costly?”
“It works.”
The questioning pivoted. They asked about the weather that week, about equipment schedules, about Drew’s work patterns. They were circling the drain, and Kaelen knew it. They were looking for inconsistencies, for a thread to pull that would unravel Pete’s report and put the blame on something—or someone—that wasn’t the company’s soil assessment.
Pete himself appeared then, materializing from behind the site trailer with two fresh mugs of coffee. He handed one to Armitage with a nod that was just respectful enough. “Everything clarifying, gentlemen? Paperwork matching the mud?”
“It’s a process, Foreman,” Armitage said, accepting the mug without thanks. His eyes were on the unstable slope where it had happened. “We’ll need to inspect the failure site directly.”
Pete’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes met Kaelen’s for a fleeting second. “Sure thing. It’s cordoned off. Still unstable, so watch your step. Kae, you wanna lead the way? Since you know the last safe spot to stand.”
It was a order disguised as a suggestion, and a good one. Having Kaelen there limited the narrative they could construct about the site.
As they trudged toward the tree line, the corporate men slipping in the mud, Kaelen felt a more deliberate series of presses from inside. A pattern. Dot-dot-dot. Dash-dash-dash. Dot-dot-dot. Liam was bored, and he was spelling ‘SOS’ in Morse code against his brother’s throat.
The sudden, absurd fondness that cut through Kaelen’s tension was so sharp it was painful. He coughed once, a rough sound, and brought a hand to his mouth, pressing back firmly in a universal ‘knock it off’ signal. The presses stopped, replaced by a tiny, silent vibration that felt like suppressed laughter.
The failure site was a raw, ugly gash in the forest floor, about fifteen feet across, roots dangling like ripped tendons from its sides. The yellow caution tape around it fluttered pathetically. The corporate men stood at the edge, peering in as if expecting the earth to confess.
“Depth?” Armitage asked.
“Twelve feet at the center,” Pete supplied. “Would’ve been a bad day for anyone inside it.”
The younger man with the sharp eyes was leaning over, too far over, squinting at the exposed soil layers. “Subsurface washout. See the sediment line? Water channeled underneath.” He straightened, turning to Armitage. “A pre-existing condition. Undetectable by standard visual survey.”
There it was. The shift. Not an act of God, but a hidden flaw. A thing that, perhaps, someone should have suspected.
Kaelen’s jaw tightened. He felt Liam go utterly still inside him.
“But detectable by proper geological survey,” Pete said, his easy-going tone now lined with steel. “Which we pay the company for. Which said this quadrant was stable.”
“Surveys are extrapolations, Foreman. Not guarantees.” Armitage didn’t look at Pete. He was writing again. “The report will note the likely cause was latent sub-surface erosion, not operational error.”
Pete’s face flushed. “Operational error? My man got hurt because the ground vanished. The error was in the map.”
“The map is not the territory.” Armitage finally looked at him, his expression cool. “We’ll need your full crew for brief interviews. Standard procedure. To rule out any… peripheral factors.”
They were going to talk to Drew. They were going to give him a microphone for his accusations.
As they turned back toward the clearing, Kaelen felt a shift within him, a careful, purposeful movement. Liam was crawling, not pressing. He was moving toward the sealed opening, requesting an exit. It wasn’t safe, not here, not with them all going back to where the crew was gathered.
Kaelen shook his head minutely, a tremor someone might mistake for stiffness. He pressed his tongue firmly down, a clear ‘denied.’
The movement inside ceased. There was a sense of… recalculation.
Back in the clearing, the crew had coalesced into a nervous knot. Drew was at its center, trying to look casual and failing. Armitage gestured, and one of his shadows called the first name. It wasn’t Drew’s. They were working alphabetically, or by seniority. They were being methodical, which meant Drew had time to stew.
Pete moved to Kaelen’s side, speaking under the cover of a distant chainsaw sputtering to life. “They’re building the ‘act of nature’ defense. Limits liability.” He glanced at Kaelen, his voice dropping further. “How’s the stowaway?”
Kaelen’s breath caught. He’d never told Pete Liam was here today. He searched the foreman’s face.
Pete gave a faint, knowing smirk, his eyes on the corporate men. “You got a tell, Kae. When he’s in there, you hold your head a certain way. Like you’re listening to a real quiet song. Noticed it years ago.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Smart. Safer than leaving him home alone with all this… atmosphere.”
The understanding, the unspoken alliance, was a solid warmth in Kaelen’s chest. “He’s alright. Getting restless.”
“I bet.” Pete’s eyes hardened as he watched Drew get called over. “Time for the main event. Keep your feathers smooth. He’s got nothing but hot air.”
They watched as Drew puffed up, launching into an animated story for the corporate men. They saw the hand gestures, the shrugs, the pointed, sneaking looks in Kaelen’s direction.
Inside the pouch, Liam felt the change. The tension wasn’t coiling anymore; it was hardening into something cold and dense, like ice forming in Kaelen’s veins. He couldn’t hear the words, but he could feel the intent in the rigid set of his brother’s throat, in the minute, almost imperceptible vibration of a low, sub-audible growl that never made it past Kaelen’s lips.
Liam made a decision. He couldn’t see, but he could map the world through Kaelen’s body. The turn of his head, the shift of his weight. He was facing Drew and the suits. The crew was a murmur to the left. The site trailer was… behind them and to the right.
Carefully, silently, Liam began to move. Not toward the exit, but deeper, navigating the soft, organic terrain of the pouch until he was positioned directly against the inner wall that corresponded to Kaelen’s back.
Outside, Drew’s interview was wrapping up. The corporate men looked unsatisfied, but not dismissive. Drew had planted seeds, not facts. It was enough to cast a shadow.
It was enough to cast a shadow. The air in the clearing felt thinner, charged with a silent verdict. Kaelen watched the suits huddle, their low murmurs a hive of calculated risk. His own body was a fortress of clenched stone.
Inside the warm, pressurized dark, Liam felt the fortress walls vibrating with strain. He knew that particular frequency. It was the sound of Kaelen holding a tornado inside his ribs. The urge to see, to understand the threat shaping itself just beyond the muscle and bone, became a physical itch between his shoulder blades. He needed to help. The pocket of safety felt suddenly like a prison.
He shrugged off his small shirt, the fabric pooling beside him. The organic wall before him was soft, giving slightly under his hands. He found the familiar ridge, a subtle raised circle of denser tissue about the size of his palm on the back wall of the pouch. It was warm, almost feverish with his brother’s stress. He took a breath, pressed his bare back against it, and aligned the reciprocal port at the base of his own neck.
The connection wasn’t a click or a spark. It was a sudden, total immersion.
The world exploded inward.
Sensation assaulted him—a brutal symphony of input without context. The grinding ache of the bound wing was a white-hot brand. The mud sucking at boots was a cold, slimy pressure on his own nonexistent soles. The acidic burn of impotent anger in Kaelen’s gut churned in his. It was a roaring flood of fear-anxiety-anger-hopelessness-stress, a tornado of static threatening to shred his sense of self.
I am Liam. I am here. I am separate.
He focused on the thought, a tiny raft in the storm. He didn’t push the foreign feelings away. He let them flow through him, acknowledging their shape, their terrible weight. Then, gently, he began to weave his own signal into the noise. He pictured the quiet cabin at dusk, the sound of Kaelen’s purr resonating through the floorboards. He pushed the steady warmth of shared laughter, the quiet pride he felt watching his brother work, the absolute, bedrock certainty of his love. He sent it all, not as a shout, but as a constant, humble pulse beneath the chaos.
Love. Warmth. Support. Affection. A silent echo: You are not alone in this.
For several heartbeats, nothing changed. The storm raged. Then, he felt it—a slight, hesitant unraveling. The tension in the throat muscle around him softened by a degree. The tornado of anger banked, just a little, making space for a weary, grim awareness. The connection stabilized, the brutal rush settling into a manageable, shared hum. He was in. The firewall was down.
Okay. Now see.
Liam opened his eyes—Kaelen’s eyes.
The shift was dizzying. The world was suddenly vast, the ground impossibly far away. He was looking through a violet-tinted lens, his perspective anchored several feet above everyone else. He saw the matte finish of the corporate suits, the sweat stain on Drew’s collar, the worried line of Pete’s mouth. He heard the rustle of the clipboard pages, the distant chitter of a squirrel, the dense, polyphonic symphony of the forest itself. It was all filtered through Kaelen’s profound, listening stillness.
He was a passenger in a statue.Mr. Armitage was speaking again, his dry voice crisp in Kaelen’s sharp hearing. “We’ll be compiling our report. The preliminary finding stands as latent geological anomaly. Unforeseeable.” He tucked the clipboard under his arm, a gesture of finality. “Your medical coverage is, of course, uncontested. Light duty as certified.”
Pete’s jaw worked. “And the safety review for the rest of the sector?”
“Will proceed independently.” Armitage’s gaze slid past Pete and landed on Kaelen, holding. “Your reflexes were commendable. You’re fortunate.”
Through the connection, Liam felt the hot wire of words Kaelen wanted to spit. Fortunate. I am standing here with my wing in a cage because your maps are lies. He felt the muscle in Kaelen’s jaw jump with the effort of suppression.
What came out was a low, controlled rumble. “Fortunate would be ground that holds.”
A flicker of something—annoyance, perhaps—crossed Armitage’s face. Drew chose that moment to sidle up, a false smile plastered on his face. “See? All’s well that ends well. Just one of those things.”
Liam, swimming in Kaelen’s sensory stream, felt the reaction before it was visible. A cold, pure wave of contempt so sharp it felt like clarity. Kaelen’s tail, which had been still, gave one slow, deliberate twitch, etching a deep line in the mud. His head turned, just enough, and those violet eyes pinned Drew where he stood.
The sheer, wordless force of that look made Drew’s smile die. He took a half-step back.
Kaelen said nothing. He didn’t need to. The message was transmitted in the chilling absence of sound, in the absolute focus of his gaze. Liam felt it, and he knew Drew felt it too: a promise of consequences, deferred but not forgotten.
Armitage cleared his throat, a dry, scraping sound. “We’re finished here.” The suits began moving as one unit toward their vehicles.
Pete exhaled, a long, frustrated sigh. He clapped a hand on Kaelen’s good shoulder. “Go home, Kae. Take the rest of the day. Nothing more for you to do here but stew.”
The dismissal from the site, the walking away, felt like a defeat. Liam felt the heavy lethargy of it seep into Kaelen’s muscles, a crushing weight. He pushed another pulse of warmth through the connection, a quiet We’re going home.
Kaelen gave a single, stiff nod to Pete. He turned, his movements deliberately slow, and began the long walk back up the gravel road toward the truck. The corporate SUVs passed him, kicking up dust that coated his boots.
Liam stayed linked, watching the road unravel through his brother’s eyes, feeling the jar of each step in his own bones. The distant roar of the SUV engines faded, replaced by the crunch of gravel and the whisper of wind in the pines. The compound shrank in the periphery of Kaelen’s vision, a messy wound in the green.
Only when they were completely alone on the road, the truck a dark shape in the distance, did Kaelen’s control finally fracture.
A shudder ran through the entire massive frame, so violent Liam felt it in his own teeth. A raw, ragged sound tore from Kaelen’s throat, part growl, part agonized sigh. He stopped walking, his head bowing, wings straining uselessly against the sling.
Inside, Liam disconnected.
The sudden retreat to his own singular senses was a shock, a plunge into silent, warm dark. He was just Liam again, small and shaking in the aftermath. He heard the heavy, shuddering breaths from outside, felt the world tremble with them.
He didn’t press or ask. He simply crawled forward, away from the neural port, and placed both hands flat against the living wall, offering a point of contact, of grounding physical presence.
After a minute, the tremors subsided. Kaelen took a final, deep, clearing breath. Liam felt the lower jaw shift, the soft, wet sound of the sphincter opening above him. A sliver of grey, dust-filled light pierced the dark.
“Come on out, Li,” Kaelen’s voice murmured, hoarse and thick, but gentle. It wasn’t an order. It was an invitation, a need for contact.
Liam climbed toward the light, pulling his shirt back on as he moved. He emerged onto Kaelen’s offered palm, the world expanding violently around him. He was instantly soaked in the day’s fading light, the scale of everything rushing back. He looked up.
Kaelen’s face was etched with exhaustion, his violet eyes dark and wounded. But they were focused on Liam, soft with an apology that hadn’t been spoken.
“Well,” Liam said, his own voice small but steady in the vast quiet. “That was profoundly shitty.”
A choked, surprised laugh bubbled out of Kaelen. It was a broken sound, but it was real. “Yeah,” he rasped, bringing his hand closer to his chest. “Yeah, it was.”
“I felt all of it,” Liam said, leaning against the curve of Kaelen’s thumb. “The whole… mess of it.”
“I know.” Kaelen’s thumb stroked carefully over his back. “I felt you, too. In the middle of it. That helped.”
They stayed like that for a long moment, in the middle of the empty road, the only sound the wind and their own breathing. The battle was lost, the field conceded. But the war, Liam understood, watching the hard, thoughtful light return to his brother’s eyes, was just beginning.
“Let’s go home,” Kaelen said softly.