The man stepped closer into the light, close enough now that the details stopped hiding.
He was old, but not worn out. The kind of age that came from surviving long enough to know when to stop running. His body was lean, dense, built like someone who still trained because stopping would mean decay. Subtle augmentations traced along his neck and collarbone, clean work, not flashy. One eye had been replaced entirely, the synthetic iris adjusting focus as it studied Xavier, while the other carried the dull patience of someone who had seen too much to be impressed.
"Name's Veyr," he said. The words landed without weight, like he didn't care whether they were remembered or not. "This place answers to me."
He gestured toward the seating arranged along the edge of the chamber. No restraints. No guards hovering close. That, more than anything, made Arlen uneasy.
"Sit," Veyr added. "Relax. You're not here to die."
