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By the time mid-morning approached, Lily had been coaxed back to sleep for a few more hours and then reluctantly sent to eat, wash, and train. Vera and Vela had already taken Bat Bat for supervised movement drills because Elena had finally declared that if Bat Bat insisted on joining important missions, then she would at least learn how to move without sounding like a dropped tray of silverware.

Bat Bat had called it persecution.

Elena had called it education.

The house had agreed with Elena.

Sekhmet, meanwhile, had chosen the next piece he wanted in place before the game began.

Mira.

He stood in one of the private inner rooms near the side corridor that opened toward the lower study hall, a room large enough for serious conversation and small enough that no servant could wander into it by accident. The shutters were open just enough to let in morning light without giving the room away to anyone outside. A tea set waited untouched on the low table. Beside it sat a few ledgers Mira herself had left behind after the previous strategy meeting.

He had sent for her early.

Not at dawn.

Not in the dead hours of night.

Mid-morning.

A time serious enough to matter and ordinary enough not to feel theatrical.

The knock came precisely when he expected it.

"Come in."

The door opened, and Mira stepped inside.

She was already dressed for work. Of course she was. Her hair was tied neatly back, her sleeves folded in the practical way of someone who expected to handle ledgers, workers, coins, and at least one crisis before the afternoon meal. There was ink on the side of one finger. She either had not noticed it or had noticed and decided it was not worth wasting time over.

Her eyes went to him first.

Then, because she was Mira and her mind never stopped balancing layers, her gaze flicked once across the room, noting the closed door, the untouched tea, the lack of servants, and the way he had chosen not to sit.

Important conversation, her expression said at once.

She closed the door behind her and bowed lightly. "You called for me."

"Yes."

Sekhmet studied her for a moment before speaking further.

Mira did not fidget.

She knew this look by now. He did not waste time summoning people privately just to praise good bookkeeping. Something was coming.

Outside, faintly, the sounds of Dawn House drifted through the walls. Footsteps. A distant voice. The soft metallic ring of morning work. Inside the room, everything held still.

Then Sekhmet said, "Tomorrow the game begins."

Mira’s eyes sharpened by a degree. "Yes."

"I want every useful piece in place before it does."

She remained silent. No rushing in to prove she understood. No nervous speech. Just attention.

Sekhmet continued. "You asked me for power."

There it was. There was no decoration. There was no circling. Just the truth.

For the first time since entering the room, something real moved through Mira’s face. Not surprising, because she had hoped for this day since the moment she started realizing how different Sekhmet’s world was from ordinary business. But the directness of it hit her anyway. Her fingers tightened once against the side seam of her dress and then relaxed.

"Yes," she said quietly.

Sekhmet’s gaze did not leave her. "I can turn you into a vampire."

The room seemed to listen.

Mira had expected many forms the conversation might take. A test. A condition. A delay. A harsher bargain. But hearing the thing spoken so plainly still carried weight. Not because she feared it. Because too much of her had wanted it for too long.

Still, she was not a fool.

So she asked, "If I say yes, what do I lose?"

That question pleased him more than eagerness alone would have.

He answered honestly. "Your old life."

Mira held his gaze.

He went on. "Not all at once. Not visibly, if we handle it correctly. But the line changes. Your blood changes. Your place changes. Once it begins, it does not become a simple thing again."

Mira let one breath pass before asking the next question.

"And what do I gain?"

Sekhmet did not soften the answer. "Power. Bloodline. Survival. Growth. A place under me that does not depend only on ledgers and sharp memory."

Mira’s mouth moved faintly.

She almost smiled.

"Only those things."

"For now."

That earned the ghost of the smile after all.

But it faded quickly enough.

Because she had not come this far, watched this much, and wanted this deeply for a childish reason.

Her voice lowered.

"If I take this from you... if I become what the twins are, what Lily is..." Her eyes hardened slightly. "Then later, after the war, you help me."

Sekhmet already knew what she meant.

Still, he made her say it.

"With what."

Mira’s face changed.

Not wildly.

Only enough for the truth underneath all her careful calm to show through.

"The medusa race."

There it was. The old wound. The old hatred.

Not theatrical vengeance. Not a tantrum held over from youth. Something colder. More lasting. The kind of revenge people built one bone, one coin, one patient year at a time until it became a life direction rather than a mood.

She went on, each word more controlled than the emotion inside it.

"My blood comes from them. My ruin came from them too. My mother’s line ended because of them. My branch was crushed because they were stronger, richer, and better placed to do it. They took what they wanted and left what remained to be sold, scattered, or silenced." Her voice did not rise, but it became harder. "I do not want to die before they remember my name."

Silence held after that.

Sekhmet looked at her and saw no weakness in the request.

The best vengeance was not loud. It stayed alive long enough to become useful.

At last he said, "After the war, I will help you."