The Academy was officially closed for the "Great Gutter Audit." To the rest of the town, it was a nuisance. To the Verne family, it was a tactical operation
The morning air was crisp, smelling of damp earth and the charcoal from our breakfast fire. I was sitting at the table, meticulously checking my "Gutter Inspection Kit"—which consisted mostly of various lengths of string, a notebook full of boring diagrams, and a very small, very dull trowel.
Avaris was standing by the hearth, wrapping a loaf of bread for my lunch. Her movements were sharper than usual, her eyes constantly flicking toward the window that faced the Academy.
"Ilyas," she said, her voice dropping into that low, resonant frequency she used when she was scanning for threats. "The West Wing is a maze of old stone. Stay in the open. Don't let Albrecht lead you into the sub-basements alone. And for heaven's sake, if the Grey Cloak starts asking about 'The North,' just start talking about the history of gravel again."
I stood up, adjusting my spectacles and smoothing out my wool vest. I felt a sudden surge of playfulness—perhaps it was the adrenaline of the "Spy Game" finally getting to me.
"Don't worry, my love," I said with a wink, sliding my ledger into my satchel. "But listen... if I don't come back by sunset, or if you hear the sound of a very academic-sounding explosion... take Arin and Lysa and head for the Northern passes. Leave this place behind. I'll meet you in the silt-fields."
I meant it as a joke—a lighthearted nod to the "Ghost Architect" persona the kids had given me.
But the air in the kitchen suddenly turned to ice.
Avaris froze. She didn't laugh. She didn't even smile. She turned toward me, and for the first time in years, the "General" didn't just peek out—she stood front and center. Her eyes turned to flint, and the hand holding the bread-knife tightened until her knuckles were white.
"Ilyas," she said, and her voice sounded like a blade being drawn across a whetstone. "Do not joke about that. If they dare to make you even lose a single hair... if they so much as bruise a knuckle on your hand... I will not leave. I will burn that Academy to the ground with everyone inside it. They will pay a price the Empire cannot afford."
The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush a mountain. Arin and Lysa, who were sitting on the stairs, went perfectly still. Arin's eyes were wide, realizing that while Dad was the "Architect," Mom was the "Demolition."
I swallowed hard, my playful grin evaporating. "I... I was just joking, Avaris. I'll be home for tea."
She held my gaze for a long beat, the heat of her protective fury slowly receding back behind her "housewife" mask. She stepped forward, straightened my collar, and kissed me deeply—a kiss that felt less like a goodbye and more like a claim of ownership.
"See that you are," she whispered. "Now go. The gutters aren't going to inspect themselves."
The Academy: The Silent Corridors
I arrived at the Academy gates ten minutes later. The school was eerily quiet. No children shouting, no rhythmic chanting from the classrooms. Just the wind whistling through the gargoyles.
Principal Albrecht was waiting for me at the entrance to the West Wing. Beside him stood the Grey Cloak, looking refreshed and—to my horror—determined.
"Master Verne," Albrecht said, gesturing to the towering stone walls. "The moisture in the West Wing is reaching critical levels. The Courier believes the issue lies in the primary drainage arteries. We've cleared the wing for you. You have total access."
"Total access! How thrilling!" I chirped, pulling out my string and my trowel. "I shall start with the North-West downspout. It has a peculiar 'gurgle' that suggests a high concentration of oak-leaf debris and perhaps a hint of lime-scaling!"
I set off, humming my tuneless song. But as I worked my way through the wing, my "Scholar's Eye" noticed something that had nothing to do with water.
I was poking my trowel into a joint near the ceiling when I felt a metallic clink. I leaned in, adjusting my spectacles. It wasn't a pipe for water. It was a hollow copper tube, perfectly angled to catch vibrations from the rooms below.
"A listening network," I whispered to myself.
The entire West Wing was rigged. The gutters weren't failing because of leaves; they were failing because someone had modified the structural drainage to house a massive, school-wide eavesdropping system. Every whisper from a student, every secret shared by Cyrus or Mira, was being carried through these tubes straight to the Principal's office.
I looked down at my satchel. I had a bottle of "Acidic Cleaning Agent" (which was actually just very strong vinegar for my soil tests).
"Well," I muttered, looking at the primary junction of the copper tubes. "It would be a terrible shame if a 'clumsy' scholar accidentally poured high-corrosive solution into the 'drainage' system while trying to clear a clog."
I looked back. The Grey Cloak was watching me from the end of the hall. I gave him a big, goofy wave with my trowel.
"Just checking the resonance of the mortar, Master Courier! It's quite... musical today!"
I turned back to the wall, my hand reaching for the vinegar bottle. It was time for the Ghost Architect to do some very "accidental" plumbing