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That same night did not stay quiet for long. Dawn House slept in layers.
Servants in the lower wing slept first, tired and practical, the kind of sleep earned by feet that had walked stone all day. The older guards slept lightly, one ear still trained to sound.
Elena slept the way commanders did — never fully, never deeply, as if even dreams were expected to report for duty. Bat Bat and Leaf slept tangled in blankets and bad posture, one tiny hand still draped over the little spirit as if friendship required physical proof. Vera and Vela slept in disciplined stillness, not because they needed less rest now, but because their new blood made stillness look like readiness.
Sekhmet slept last.
He always did.
