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Sekhmet had the same face his father used to wear when his mind was made up.
Elena knew that face too well.
She had seen Eyra stand before ancient elders, gods, and killers with that same quiet, immovable certainty in his eyes. Once that look settled into place, words stopped being tools and became noise. You could argue with it if you wanted. You could shout at it. You could threaten it. In the end, none of it changed the decision. It only changed how loud the room became before everyone accepted defeat.
She saw that same look in Sekhmet now.
And for one brief moment, the years fell away. The boy standing in front of her blurred with the man who had once driven an entire house into fury by choosing with his heart and refusing to apologize for it.
Lady Seraphiel noticed it too.
Her expression changed ever so slightly. Not surprising. It was recognition. The sort that cut deeper because it came with memory attached.
Elena's gaze shifted from Sekhmet to Lily.
