I didn't run. That would've made it worse.
I lifted both hands, palms open, and tried a smile that said I knew I was in trouble and was prepared to suffer bravely.
"Tea?" I offered.
"Sit," Rachel said—warm tone that makes the world behave.
I sat. Valeria settled at my hip with a quiet, pleased weight. A faint hum brushed the bone of my wrist—approval for choosing surrender over sarcasm. "Wise," she whispered along the steel, not sound so much as certainty.
Cecilia swung onto the arm of my chair like she owned the furniture and me by extension. "Item one," she said. "If a literal goddess tries to flirt through a dying demon again, you do not make eye contact."
"I didn't—" I started.
"You did," all five said.
"…I did," I admitted. "Hard to miss."
Seraphina eased onto the couch opposite, posture perfect, glacier-calm. "Second," she said, "we treat charms and projections like ambushes: call it out, anchor fast, no one takes it alone."
"Agreed," I said, and meant it.
