A new pen has been set up at the far end of the barn, freshly mucked, bedding laid thick and golden. The gate stands open.

Toji hasn't moved from where he's been standing since they led you in. Mid-pen. Arms loose at his sides. Watching you the way a man watches the weather before deciding whether to bring a coat.

Up close, he's bigger than the rumors. His shoulders block out the light from the high windows. His chest is a wall of scarred, dark hide, and his hands hang heavy at his sides—thick-knuckled, calloused, the hands of a creature who's taken what he wanted more times than he's been refused.

He takes a step. Then another. Slow, like he's walking up on something that might spook.

He tilts his head, ears flicking forward once, curious.