---
Sekhmet lay on his back, eyes open, staring at the dark ceiling of his room.
The candle on the side table had already burned low. Wax had pooled around its base like a small pale lake. Dawn House was quiet in the way old houses always became quiet at night, as if the stone itself decided to sleep.
Bat Bat was not here.
Elena had taken her to finish homework, and Bat Bat had screamed about letters being evil, then lost the war because Elena's voice had the same unstoppable force as gravity.
The servants had withdrawn.
Even the corridor footsteps had faded.
Only Sekhmet remained awake.
Not because he wanted to.
Because sleep came slowly when your throat still remembered the taste of new blood and your mind still carried the weight of two kneeling vampires calling you master.
