"Oh! You're awake! That's wonderful. Ten hours, very impressive. Your body clearly needed it." She's examining me with those eyes that see too much. "How do you feel? Any dizziness? Residual pain?"
"What. Is. This." I gesture at the charts, the assembled guild, my shadows contentedly draped around her.
"House planning! We found the most amazing property. Twenty bedrooms, seven bathrooms—wait, let me show you the charts. They're very comprehensive."
She actually bounces toward one of the salvaged wood pieces. My shadows move with her, following her enthusiasm.
"Look, pros and cons list. Very objective."
I read. PROS takes up most of the board—hot water, private rooms, no mold, real kitchen (two!), defensible location, tower for "shadow brooding." CONS has one entry: "current mushroom situation."
"This is how we make decisions now? Charts?"
"Visual aids help with complex choices." She's got charcoal on her nose. "And everyone had input. Very democratic."
"We're not a democracy."
"We could be. For housing decisions." She tilts her head, and my shadows shift with her movement. "Why not let people contribute to choices that affect them?"
"Because I make decisions. That's how this works. How it's always worked."
"That seems limiting." She's genuinely curious, not challenging. Somehow that's worse. "What if you're wrong?"
"I'm not wrong."
"You were wrong about vegetables."
A murmur goes through the guild. They remember the vegetables. Remember being right about something the Shadow King was wrong about.
This is insubordination. This is the edge of chaos. I should reassert control immediately, remind them why they follow. But my chest still feels tight from the realization they protected my sleep, and my shadows are still draped around her like they've found home.
Gray Streak clears his throat. "The drainage is modern. Installed five years ago. I interrogated very thoroughly."
"With soap," Finn adds helpfully.
"With soap," Gray Streak confirms with dignity.
I stare at my senior enforcer. "You interrogated civilians about plumbing. With soap."
"Lavender soap. It was very effective."
My shadows ripple slightly around her shoulders, responding to her suppressed amusement. They're not mine anymore. Haven't been since they left with her this morning.
"Show him the room assignments," someone calls out. Tooth, looking pleased with himself. Like he hasn't spent the morning teaching fitted sheet techniques.
She's already dragging me to another chart. Actually dragging. Her hand on my sleeve, tugging me along while my shadows flow with her movement, not helping me, not returning, just... staying with her.
"See? Everyone gets their own room. Privacy. Dignity. No more sleeping in shifts or checking for mushroom growth." She points at the master suite notation. "You get the big one. For shadow storage."
"Shadow storage."
"Well, you need space for... shadow things." She waves vaguely. "Brooding. Dramatic entrances. Whatever you do with them when they're not being social."
Social. She thinks shadows socialize.
"They're weapons. Not pets."
The shadows tighten around her shoulders protectively. One tendril reaches out toward me, then retreats. Like they're choosing sides. Like they've already chosen.
