---
Elara stood in the doorway, framed by lamplight and steam from the stew. Her armor was plain, brushed clean, oiled at the straps. Her face was the same as always—calm, hard, tired in a way you earn by seeing too much and saying too little.
John set his spoon down. "Evening, Elara."
Fizz sat up so fast his chair squeaked. He smoothed his whiskers with both paws and tried to look taller. "Hello, scary lady who pretends she is not nice."
Pim leaned across the table and stage-whispered to John, not even close to quiet. "The angry-looking lady is here."
Penny flicked Pim's ear with two fingers and did not look away from Elara. "Mind your mouth."
Pim rubbed his ear and grinned anyway. "What? She looks like a sword that learned to walk."
Penny sighed. "Bedtime," she said. "Now."
"Aww—"
"Now," she repeated, and the word had all the weight of walls.
Pim stood, legs heavy with protest. He looked at Elara as he passed her. "Hi," he said, like a boy greeting a thundercloud.
