---
Vera stood against his left side, rigid at first, then slowly softening as his hand settled at the back of her head. Vela stood against his right, closer than she usually allowed herself when duty kept her sharp. The bond between them warmed in the quiet. It did not roar. It did not command. It moved like a low fire under dark stone, steady and deep, reminding all three of them that blood could be chained, but it could also be shelter if handled correctly.
For a while, no one spoke.
The room did not need speech yet.
The lamps flickered softly. Outside the window, the dark of Slik City pressed against Dawn House, full of men who planned, waited, feared, and sharpened knives behind polite doors. Inside, the only movement was breath, warmth, and the slow easing of bodies that had carried violence too long.
Vela was the first to break the silence.
"You are still thinking."
Sekhmet looked down at her.
"I am always thinking."
"That is not an answer."
