The disciplinary hearing was over. I stepped out of the hall like a survivor of an invisible witch hunt. No one pulled me aside. No one accused me. But the silence—gods, it burned hotter than flame.
Serena was waiting at the corner."They talk about protocol," she said, "but all I saw were eyes waiting to judge."
"I can't afford to retreat anymore," I replied. "I have to move faster than they do."
"Observatory. Seven tonight. I'll bring what you want to see."
And then she disappeared into the crowd.
We sat in the observatory's shadowed dome, far from curious ears. Books and candlelight surrounded us like a protective ward.
"I should name her," I muttered.
Serena didn't flinch. "And give her the war she wants?"
"She's testing how far I'll go. She's setting the rhythm."
"No," Serena said, flipping a page in the royal decree compendium. "She's stalling. You almost cornered her in the tribunal. She needs time to bury the trail again."
I leaned back, watching the candle flame flicker. "Then we give her something else to chase."
Serena's lips curled. "Diversion?"
"A false trail." I pulled out a worn folder from beneath my cloak—an untouched replica of 1098-AR, copied days before the original vanished.
Her eyes widened. "You made a duplicate."
"I don't trust silence," I said. "Not even magical archives."
She exhaled, then nodded. "Then it's time to draw our own web."