Helot sensed him before she saw him—the faint displacement of air, the hesitation of footsteps that stopped just outside striking distance. She did not turn. The black orbs behind her continued their slow orbit, silent and watchful, as if weighing his worth. Only when he spoke did she shift her gaze, crimson eyes cutting sideways with practiced indifference.

“So,” she said, voice calm and dry, “you’re the Keeper.” A pause. One heartbeat longer than necessary.

“…If you’ve come to give orders, leave. If you’ve come to make use of me—” Her fingers flexed, dark residue trailing like ink in water.

“—then speak carefully. I don’t tolerate betrayal. Not even from gods.”