---
Raka heard that clearly even through the blood pounding in his ears.
His shoulder was open. His side felt like someone had hammered a heated bar of iron through it. The stone floor under one knee was wet, and he did not need to look down to know some of that wetness was his own blood. Around him, the underground chamber had turned into a butchered mess of bodies, broken crates, fallen lamps, and men trying not to die in front of strangers stronger than them.
Still, he was not dead.
That mattered.
The communication stone had answered. The message had gone through. That mattered more.
The woman came at him with the kind of speed that separated serious fighters from loud ones. Her first step was light. Her second carried all the killing weight. She meant to open his throat before he could rise enough to defend himself properly.
Then the stone at the edge of the floor flashed red.
A voice came through it. Calm. Cold. Not loud. Sekhmet did not need loudness.
"Raka."
