The house settled into that late, lovely quiet where even the appliances try to whisper. Stella had drifted back to sleep on the couch, pendant warm against her chest, stylus tucked under her hand like a pet. The glass dome glowed faintly over its blue rose, holding one word and a lot of feeling.
Luna sat beside me under the throw, shoulder to shoulder, sharing the same square of warmth. Tiamat stood by the window, gaze on the city the way a hawk looks at open sky—measuring, choosing not to leave.
"I will patrol the horizon," she said, which in dragon means "I am giving you the room."
"Don't bully any more ridges," I told her.
"If geography behaves," she said, and then folded space like it was a napkin. One step, a soft ripple, gone. No flash. No drama. Just absence.
I let out a breath I hadn't noticed I was holding. Luna's hand found mine under the blanket and didn't leave.
"She's gentler with you," Luna said, eyes on the dark glass.
