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And tomorrow, when the sun rose, the auction marketing would still happen. But Iron House would wake and realize their young master did not come home.
They would panic. They would feel rage. They would do something stupid.
And Sekhmet, walking through silent corridors toward his sleeping house, felt only one cold certainty settle deeper into his bones.
The auction is no longer just a business event. It is bait. And he had just made sure the predators were already starving.
.
.
.
.
.
.
A few hours later… Morning came to Slik City like it always did. Not gently. Not beautifully.
It came the way busy cities woke by accident, by noise, by hunger, by people pretending they had slept while their eyes already looked tired.
