---
Sekhmet stared down at the battle again.
"I do not like helping."
Helping meant risk. Helping meant attention. Helping meant unpredictable consequences.
But this was Lily.
If it was her.
And if it was her, letting her die would be something he could not scrub off later, no matter how many lakes he bathed in.
Sekhmet's eyes hardened.
"I have no choice."
He could refuse a stranger.
He could refuse a caravan.
He could refuse someone begging in the dirt.
But he could not refuse someone tied to his past.
Not this time.
Sekhmet rolled his shoulders once, checking the tightness in his muscles. The training tool still suppressed his displayed battle power, still tried to keep him balanced, still made his movements heavier in invisible ways. But suppression did not remove skill. It did not remove instinct.
And he had been training like a madman for months.
He had blood proficiency at ninety percent.
He had a blood bat with three thousand power.
