They didn't bow. Didn't need to. None of them said a word when they appeared, because they understood what her voice meant.
The way she had called them—without warning or ceremony—told them everything they needed to know.
And they weren't the type of women who asked questions when they already understood the shape of what was coming.
Lilith turned to face them slowly. Her back was straight, her eyes focused, her expression unreadable—but sharp.
She didn't need to look stern to hold control. Her silence was enough.
One of the women stepped forward slightly. She was tall and lean, with gray eyes that looked like polished slate and a mouth that never quite smiled.
Her voice was calm, just a notch above soft. "You're thinking of calling the righteous gods?"
Lilith didn't blink. "No," she said quietly. "I'm thinking of calling ours."
That one sentence made the whole room feel tighter—not louder, not heavier, just tighter—like the walls understood, too.
