The morning after the Covenant was signed, the Temple did not feel like a fortress or a prison. It felt like a house that had finally stopped settling. The high, violet-misted rafters were silent, save for the crackle of the white-gold fire that never seemed to diminish. For the first time in weeks, there were no alarms, no psychic broadcasts from Geneva, and no sound of high-end tires on gravel.
Hailey awoke in the oversized armchair by the hearth, her body tangled in the thick wool blanket and the even thicker warmth of Baphomet's presence. He was sitting on the obsidian floor beside her, his back against the stone, his massive wings draped over the chair like a living canopy of night. He had stayed awake while she slept, a silent sentinel watching the embers die down and the starlight shift across the dome.
"You're staring," Hailey murmured, her voice thick with sleep. She reached out a hand, her fingers finding the coarse, soft fur at the base of his neck.
