Zantabraxus was in a strange place against her will. Of course she wasn't about to sleep. Her mental disciplines were strong. She'd be fine for quite a while.
She stalked the hallways like a cat, always searching for answers. All she'd found were more victims like herself, unless they were very canny liars, and she thought she was a better judge of people than that. She would find the ones responsible and kill them. Thoroughly. A predatory smile crossed her face.
It fell soon after when she rounded a corner and saw someone walking away from her near the other end of the corridor. No. Her eyes narrowed. She recognized those broad shoulders, the stride, the way he held himself. She snarled silently. No.
She moved into a lope, footfalls soft and gentle, a hunter's pace. She drew her dagger as she neared the man. A leap put her on his back, knees squeezing his sides to hold her up. One hand tangled in his hair, the other held the knife to his throat. "You," she hissed against his ear.