Dawn arrives without asking who is in charge.
It always does.
⸻
The sky lightens slowly, as if even the sun is cautious.
Jason hasn’t slept. None of them have. He stands near the ledger table, fingers hovering just above the worn pages, memorizing the weight of it, the smell of paper and ink and hands that trembled when they wrote.
“They’ll be here at first light,” he says quietly.
Zane stands a few steps away, the heir asleep against his chest, wrapped and shielded, presence folded deep and steady. He looks calm in a way that is not peace, but readiness.
“They said dawn,” Zane replies. “So dawn is what they’ll get.”
Jason swallows.
“And after.”
Zane does not answer yet.
⸻
People begin arriving before the sun clears the horizon.
Not summoned.
Not organized.
They come because
