Dawn Walker

Chapter 215: 215: Where Is my Son? III

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Dickoff’s voice lowered. “Boy, you think the auction made you untouchable.”

Sekhmet’s gaze sharpened. “No. I think you are touching the wrong thing.”

Dickoff’s eyes narrowed. “Take him.”

That was the final line.

The seven Rank Three moved.

At the same moment, Sekhmet spoke calmly, voice low but absolute.

“Vera. Vela.”

The twins moved instantly, bodies blurring forward like two knives thrown from the same hand.

They did not rush randomly.

They targeted.

They went for the first Rank Three that stepped into striking range, because removing momentum mattered more than showing off. Vera’s blood threads snapped out, thin and fast, catching the man’s wrist and elbow at once, redirecting his first swing. Vela stepped inside the redirected strike and drove her fist into his ribs with a force that made bone crack. The Rank Three’s eyes widened in shock, because he had expected “two women” and received “two predators.”

Auri moved at the same time, not toward the main clash, but toward the side angle where she could isolate. She did not seek glory. She sought advantage. Her cloak shifted, wings still hidden, her posture still calm, and she slid toward the second Rank Three’s flank as if she was simply walking to a clerk station.

The three “maids” changed too.

Not dramatically.

Not with screams.

Their posture shifted from servant softness into combat alignment, and that shift was so clean it made Sekhmet’s mind tighten again. They did not look surprised. They looked like soldiers who had been waiting for permission.

One of them, the smallest, lifted her sleeves slightly. Runes glimmered at her wrists, and the concealment shimmer around her broke like a thin soap bubble.

Another maid’s eyes sharpened. Her voice remained polite, almost cheerful, and that contrast was unsettling.

“Ah,” she said quietly, “so it is finally one of those days.”

The third maid glanced at Sekhmet for a heartbeat, and the look held loyalty, not hesitation. She did not look like a spy. She looked like someone who had been trained to die for Dawn House.

Sekhmet felt his mind split into two layers: the layer fighting, and the layer screaming questions.

He forced the screaming layer down.

He formed his blood sword and stepped forward into the oncoming Rank Three pressure.

Dickoff did not move yet. He watched like a man observing the first exchange of a planned fight. His escorts were the ones doing the work, because if the escorts could crush Sekhmet here, Dickoff could claim it was “self defense” or “necessary retrieval.” He would shape the story afterward.

Sekhmet had no intention of allowing Dickoff to shape anything.

He struck the first Rank Three that reached him, not trying to overpower him directly, but using Blood Control to bind his boots with thin blood threads pulled from tiny old stains in the stone floor. The threads snapped tight. The man’s footing slipped for half a breath, and that half breath was enough for Sekhmet to step inside and slam his elbow into the man’s throat. The Rank Three gagged, stumbled, and Sekhmet shoved him backward into another escort, disrupting their rhythm.

The fight spread across the aisle like spilled ink.

Vera and Vela pinned their target into a box of pain, redirecting his strength instead of meeting it head-on. Auri intercepted a second escort’s flanking attempt with smooth brutal precision, her strikes short and efficient. The three maids moved like a unit, not just defending, but corralling the remaining escorts away from the doors and away from the clerks, protecting the hall without letting panic leak out.

The lingering nobles scrambled backward now, some shouting for guards, some trying to flee, some staying to watch like idiots who thought watching violence was safe.

Mira’s voice snapped once, commanding her clerks. “Close lanes. Lock seal gates. Keep civilians out.”

Her tone was sharp and controlled. She did not scream. She ordered.

Then the doors at the far side opened and a presence entered that made several Iron escorts glance that way automatically.

Raka arrived.

He did not bring a hundred men into the hall.

He brought enough.

His people moved through side routes, sealing exits, blocking retreat paths, positioning in the corridors the way underground fighters did when they intended to trap prey. They did not charge into the main aisle immediately. They secured the perimeter first, because Raka understood something most nobles did not.

The fight was not only in front of you.

It was also behind you.

Raka stepped into the hall and his eyes locked onto Sekhmet instantly.

“Master,” he said.

Sekhmet did not look away from the escort in front of him. “Contain,” he ordered.

Raka nodded once and moved, his men spreading like a net closing.

Dickoff Iron’s gaze finally changed slightly.

Not fear.

Recognition.

He realized then that this was not a simple pressure play.

Dawn House was not alone.

Dawn House had hidden teeth.

And those teeth were not just the twins.

They were also the maids.

They were also Raka.

Dickoff’s jaw tightened as his escorts began to lose rhythm under the coordinated defense.

He stepped forward at last. His voice cut through the noise. “Enough.”

No one obeyed him.

Not even his own men fully, because fights did not stop cleanly once blood began to move.

Sekhmet turned his head slightly, eyes cold. “You wanted this,” he said.

Dickoff’s gaze burned. “You will regret—”

Sekhmet interrupted, voice flat. “I already regret wasting time speaking to you.”

Dickoff’s face tightened, and for the first time, control cracked enough for anger to show.

Then, from the corridor entrance behind the clerks, a new voice cut into the hall.

Not loud.

Not panicking.

A voice that carried the calm authority of a person who had raised chaos in one hand and discipline in the other.

“Elena is on her way,” one of the Dawn guards muttered to Mira as he rushed past. “She went to retrieve Bat Bat. The child caused a scene.”

Sekhmet’s eyes narrowed.

Elena. Finally,