* * *
They said it back to me as if it were prayer and verdict both.
The syllables laid themselves across the room and bent the light. My fingers tightened on the edge of the table until the skin whitened. For a moment I expected something theatrical to happen—a thunderclap, a curtain to fall away, a chorus of obedient actors to step into their marks. Instead the room exhaled in small, precise increments: the rustle of silk, the faint click of a ring against glass, the quiet that comes when people decide not to break a fragile thing.
Selene watched me like someone who had been given a new variable and was calculating the output. "Creator," she said again, slower, more deliberate. "That changes terms."
"I meant it to," I answered. The voice was steadier than I felt.
