Perhaps Trahearne isn't being expressly hostile, but he's on edge now, watching Devin with a far more wary expression. He'd be on his feet if he weren't confident in his magic, that he could absorb the brunt of an attack without needing to stand.

Besides, this one was also rather talkative for a dead man. He might still be able to learn something useful.

"Predators," he repeats in a flat tone. Perhaps he did have his magic, but it was hampered somewhat by not having a weapon. Trahearne thought he'd have time before needing to buy one, and now he was cursing himself for the oversight. "I see. And who do you serve? What kind of master must you have that you were able to retain your intelligence?" That was how it worked on his world - only powerful lieutenants kept enough of their minds to have a personality, and they still slavishly served Zhaitan despite it. Even then, they had either been rotting husks or shades formed with death magic. It made meeting an undead creature that so easily mimicked the living more than a little frightening.