---
No one in the camp dared to react.
Mihos was the first whose body remembered obedience enough to pull back. Not that far. Only after Seraphiel released the pressure around his fist. He stepped back half a pace, his face was tight, pride hit in three directions at once. Before his own men. Before lower Dawn. Before the aunt he could neither dismiss nor challenge lightly.
At least not yet.
Sekhmet also withdrew his hand when her fingers loosened from the blood blade. The weapon dissolved at once into dark red mist and vanished.
No point waving anger after the moment had already been stolen.
Elena watched from the side with a calm expression that hid more than it showed. She had felt Seraphiel's transmission earlier. She had listened to it. Now, seeing Seraphiel stop the collision exactly at the point where real damage would have turned the meeting into a house wound, she gave the smallest inward acknowledgment.
It was the correct timing.
