The door to the hotel room opened and the men forgot how to breathe.
Sera stood framed by the flat white daylight that never shifted, a slice of shadow cutting her clean from the room behind.
Mae had laced her into black: a gothic day dress trimmed like a uniform, brass buttons marching down a corseted bodice, and a high collar set close to her throat. The skirt swept the floor in disciplined waves. A narrow choker, nothing more than a black ribbon and a small brass filigree, sat against her skin like a signature.
The world didn't get louder when she stepped out. It got clearer. The brass caught the light; everything else chose not to.
Luci rose first, his tail lifting in a slow arc, and his head pressing briefly to Sera's hip before he circled to heel at her left.
Zubair's shoulders came down a fraction, the way a man eases when something familiar returns from a place he couldn't reach it.
