Chapter 105: That Smelled Like Trouble VIII
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The corridor grew quieter with each step.
The deeper wing of Dawn House smelled like old books and polished wood. The air here was cooler. Thick curtains muted the city sound. The walls held paintings of past merchants and unknown ancestors, their eyes staring down like they still judged every decision made under their roof.
Elena opened a small side door.
Creak...
Inside was a private sitting room. Not luxurious. Not meant for guests. It was a room that existed for family discussions, discipline, and secrets that servants were not allowed to hear.
A single lamp glowed faintly even in daylight. A small table sat between two chairs. A kettle rested on a warmer plate. Elena always kept tea ready in this room like she expected trouble to walk in at any time.
Sekhmet entered first. He did not sit right away.
Elena closed the door behind them.
Click.
Silence settled.
For a moment, Sekhmet simply stood there, breathing.
In the quiet, his mind did a cruel thing. A phantom sound, not in the room, but in him.
Elena’s voice cut through it gently.
"You are shaking," she said.
Sekhmet blinked, as if waking from a half-dream, and looked down at his hands.
He was not shaking.
Not outwardly.
But Elena had known him too long. She did not need trembling fingers to see the tremble behind his eyes.
"I am fine," Sekhmet said, voice controlled.
Elena made a small sound that was halfway between a sigh and a scoff.
"You always say that when you are not fine," she replied.
Sekhmet did not argue. He moved to the chair and sat, shoulders straight, posture clean, the posture of a young master who was supposed to be stable.
Elena remained standing.
She did not sit. She inspected it.
Her eyes moved to his coat. The cut fabric from the guard’s blade. The faint dust on his boots. A smear of tomato juice near the lower hem that had dried into a suspicious red stain.
Elena’s eyebrow lifted.
"You fought," she said.
Sekhmet’s eyes narrowed slightly. "It was nothing."
Elena stared at him.
Sekhmet felt that stare was like an old childhood punishment.
He exhaled once.
"Dickon Iron blocked my path," he said.
Elena’s mouth tightened.
Of course it was Dickon.
It was always Dickon.
"That boy," Elena murmured, and it sounded like she wanted to boil him alive and serve him as soup.
Sekhmet leaned back slightly. "He touched me," he said simply.
Elena’s expression shifted instantly.
Not angry now.
Understanding.
Because Elena knew what "touched" meant to someone who survived purgatory.
It was not about manners.
It was about control.
It was about someone thinking your body belonged to their hands.
Elena stepped forward, took a cloth from the drawer, and placed it on the table.
Then she spoke quietly.
"Tell me what you wanted to ask," she said.
Sekhmet’s gaze sharpened.
He did not call her here for comfort.
He called her here because Elena was the spine of Dawn House when his father was gone.
"Elena," he began, "how bad is it."
Elena did not pretend not to understand.
"How bad is the business," she replied. "Or how bad are the people?"
"Both," Sekhmet said.
Elena’s eyes hardened slightly. She finally sat down across from him, hands folded on her lap, posture straight.
"Dawn House is not collapsing," she said first. "Not yet. The shop survives. The name still has weight. The problem is what is happening behind that name."
Sekhmet’s fingers tapped the chair arm once.
Tap...
Elena continued carefully.
"Your father left almost two months ago," she said. "Since then, suppliers have become... strange. Some delay. Some refuse. Some say they were offered better contracts. Some say they were threatened."
Sekhmet’s eyes narrowed.
"By Iron," he said.
Elena’s lips pressed into a line.
"Rumors say Iron-Scale," she admitted. "I did not say it openly because rumors are knives. But yes. That name keeps appearing."
Sekhmet leaned forward slightly.
"And Reyan," he asked. "Manager Reyan. How long has he served."
Elena’s gaze did not waver.
"Many years," she said. "He was hired by your father. Promoted because he was competent. He is polite. He is careful. He plays the role of loyalty well."
Sekhmet’s voice stayed calm. "That was not an answer."
Elena exhaled softly.
"That is the answer," she said. "He plays the role well."
A silence stretched.
Sekhmet’s eyes lowered slightly, as if reading invisible lines on the table.
"So Elena also feels it," he thought. "Even if she cannot prove it."
Elena added, "Yesterday, Auri asked me for the auction house address."
Sekhmet’s gaze lifted sharply.
Elena nodded once.
"She said you wanted her to observe quietly," Elena continued. "She did not explain herself much. But she asked for the address, went alone, and returned with one sentence."
Sekhmet’s tone was quiet. "What sentence?"
Elena’s eyes cooled.
"She said," Elena replied, "’The manager smiles too quickly.’"
Sekhmet’s lips curved faintly again, not amusement, but recognition.
"That matches what she told me today," he murmured.
Elena leaned forward slightly.
"Sekhmet," she said softly, "do not underestimate the city. In purgatory, danger roars. In the city, danger whispers."
Sekhmet nodded slowly.
"I know," he said. His voice lowered. "That is why I will not strike Reyan yet."
Elena studied him for a long moment.
Then she nodded as well, approval flickering briefly.
"You have learned patience," she said. "Good. Patience is how merchants survive wars they cannot win by strength alone."
Sekhmet’s eyes sharpened.
"And Bat Bat," he said, shifting topics.
Elena’s lips twitched faintly, as if the stress of business betrayal was heavy, but the stress of Bat Bat was... spiritually exhausting.
"She is trouble," Elena admitted.
Sekhmet’s mouth almost twitched.
"She is improving," he corrected.
Elena sighed.
"She is improving," she allowed. "But she is also acting like a tiny noble who believes the world exists to applaud her."
Sekhmet leaned back. "That sounds like Lily."
Elena’s eyes flicked up sharply.
Sekhmet’s expression remained calm, but there was a faint edge of humor there.
Elena shook her head.