The penthouse was quiet in that good, heavy way. City lights hummed past the glass. Blue roses on the balcony pretended not to listen. Stella slept curled on the couch under a blanket, breathing slow, a small galaxy of candle-wax freckles still on her cheek. On the table, her glass dome glowed faintly around a single rose, one word held there like light in cupped hands.
The lift chimed.
The ward recognised two signatures and let them through.
Luna stepped in first, amethyst hair escaping a rushed braid, golden eyes bright and a little guilty. Tiamat followed in a dark coat, bringing a pressure change with her the way mountains bring weather.
"You're late," I said, keeping my voice low. "The cake surrendered hours ago. That's a felony on this floor."
Luna winced, then smiled. "I'm sorry. She—" a thumb at Tiamat, "—made me spar with a ridge."
"The ridge was arrogant," Tiamat said, closing the door with two fingers. "It needed humility."
"And that takes time," Luna added quickly.
