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As they approached the Dawn House business district, the familiar building came into view: tall stone, iron reinforcements, the Dawn crest displayed proudly above the entrance. There were two main doors. One for the shop, bustling with daily buyers. One for the auction hall, quieter, guarded, and used when high-level deals happened.
The building looked the same as in Sekhmet's childhood.
But the air around it felt different.
Tense.
Like a blade hidden under a cloth.
Sekhmet stepped inside the shop first.
The smell hit him immediately.
Metal. Old wood. oil. faint blood residue from beast parts used in crafting.
And fear.
Fear was not a smell for most people.
For Sekhmet, with his blood awakened and his senses sharpened, it was.
He could smell it on clerks. On guards. On customers who looked over their shoulders too often.
A middle-aged man approached quickly from behind the counter.
