By the time we returned to the Elysian Estate, the household had become more organized than most military garrisons. This wasn't surprising. My mother had been left in charge.
The front hall had been converted into a controlled reception point, no one entering without identification, inspection, and the tacit understanding that lying to the guards would become a memorable physical experience. The west wing had been sealed for medical use. The south garden remained accessible only to Spiro, my mother, William, and two guards whose expressions suggested they'd personally challenge the gods if anyone made the child uncomfortable.
A sensible arrangement.
