The man from the Church arrived without warning.
No procession, no banners, and no guards announcing his authority with heavy armor and loud noise.
He simply appeared at the academy gates shortly after dawn, dressed in clean white robes with subtle gold trim that caught the light only when he moved. He was middle-aged—young enough to be active and old enough to be respected. He smiled easily at the gate guards as if he were an old friend returning after a long absence.
By the time the sun fully cleared the eastern spires of Rosevale, every administrator worth their salary knew his name.
Brother Alaric.
Official title: Ecclesiastical Medical Ethics Observer.
Unofficial meaning: The Church is watching you.
I learned all of this an hour later when Headmistress Valentina Cross called me to her office.
She didn't waste time.
"He's here," she said, folding her hands on the desk. "Earlier than expected."
I sat up straight. "Does he have authority over me?"
"No," she replied immediately. "Not directly."
That pause afterward was more important than her words.
"But?" I asked.
"But," Valentina continued, "he has the power to recommend. And the Church's recommendations often become… expectations."
I nodded slowly. "What does he want?"
"Officially?" She smiled thinly. "To ensure your healing practices don't violate moral doctrine."
"And unofficially?"
"To decide whether you are a problem best accepted… or removed."
The word "removed" settled in my stomach like cold lead.
"I won't change how I work," I said. "Consent, boundaries, medical necessity—those aren't negotiable."
"Good," Valentina said. "Because that's exactly what you'll show him."
She stood and walked to the tall windows overlooking the academy grounds. Below, students moved in groups between classes, blissfully unaware that one man held the power to change their healer's future.
"He requested to meet you," she added. "Not in the clinic. Here. Neutral ground."
"When?" I asked.
Her gaze met mine.
"Now."
Brother Alaric stood when I entered.
His movements were steady and precise. He wasted no motion and showed no hint of tension. His smile widened slightly when he saw me, warm and polite, as if greeting a promising student rather than a potential heretic.
"Theo Ashford," he said, nodding his head. "A pleasure."
I resisted the urge to wince at the word.
"Brother Alaric," I replied evenly.
"Please," he said, gesturing to the chair across from him. "Sit. I've heard so much about you."
I sat.
Valentina remained standing behind her desk, silent and watchful.
Alaric folded his hands. "You've caused quite a stir."
"That wasn't my intention," I said.
"Intent is often irrelevant," he replied mildly. "Results are what concern us."
"Results like saving Professor Thorne's life," Valentina said coolly.
Alaric turned his head toward her, his smile unchanged. "Indeed. A remarkable recovery. The Church appreciates the preservation of life."
There it was.
The praise before the blade.
"And yet," he continued, turning back to me, "methods matter. Especially when they challenge long-standing doctrine."
"I don't challenge doctrine," I said. "I heal patients who agree to treatment."
"Through pleasure," he said gently.
"Yes."
"An act traditionally tied to indulgence, weakness, sin."
I held his gaze. "An act tied to life, connection, physical response. My class enhances what already exists."
His eyes flickered—not with anger, but with interest.
"Tell me," Alaric said, "do you enjoy your work?"
The question was calm.
The trap was not.
"I take satisfaction in saving lives," I said carefully. "Personal enjoyment does not matter."
He chuckled softly. "Spoken like a man who has pondered this question many times."
Silence stretched.
"Do you think pleasure itself is sinful?" I asked.
Alaric considered me for a long moment.
"No," he finally said. "Unrestrained pleasure is."
I nodded. "Then we agree more than you think."
That earned me a sharper look.
"Your consent protocols," he said, smoothly shifting topics. "May I review them?"
Valentina handed him a bound copy before I could respond.
Alaric flipped through the pages slowly, scanning each line with deliberate care. I watched his expression closely, but it remained unreadable—neither approval nor condemnation.
"These are… thorough," he admitted.
"They need to be," I said. "Without them, my power becomes abuse."
He looked up. "And you believe you can refuse a patient?"
"Yes."
"Even a noble?" he pressed.
"Yes."
"Even one who threatens you?"
"Yes."
Valentina smiled faintly.
Alaric closed the binder.
"Interesting," he said.
That word again.
"I will be observing," he continued. "Not interfering, not judging—yet."
"Observing what?" I asked.
"Your restraint," he said. "Your consistency. Whether your actions match your stated principles."
"And if they do?"
"Then you remain a curiosity," he said pleasantly. "A dangerous one, perhaps—but tolerable."
"And if they don't?"
His smile didn't change.
"Then the Church will act to protect the faithful."
Valentina's voice cut in, sharp. "Rosevale Academy answers to the Crown, not the Church."
"Of course," Alaric said, nodding slightly. "We merely advise."
He rose smoothly from his chair.
"I won't intrude on your clinic today," he added, looking at me. "I prefer to understand systems before witnessing them in action."
"That's wise," I said.
"Is it?" he asked, amused. "We shall see."
As he turned to leave, he paused at the door.
"Oh, Theo Ashford," he said lightly. "One more question."
"Yes?"
"If your healing required love instead of pleasure… would you still be as effective?"
The question struck deeper than I expected.
"I don't know," I admitted.
Alaric smiled—this time, genuinely pleased.
"Honesty," he said. "A promising trait."
Then he was gone.
The door closed.
I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
Valentina exhaled slowly. "That went better than expected."
"He didn't threaten me," I said.
"No," she agreed. "Which means he's undecided."
I frowned. "That's supposed to be reassuring?"
"It's better than certainty," she said.
I stood. "He'll want to see a session."
"Eventually," Valentina replied. "But not yet. He's testing whether you'll make mistakes before he applies pressure."
"And if I don't?"
She met my eyes. "Then you force the Church to choose between doctrine and results."
That sounded much more dangerous than reassuring.
As I left her office, the academy felt different.
Not hostile.
Watched.
Back in my clinic, Lyra was waiting—her feet on the desk, chewing on a piece of enchanted candy that crackled faintly with curse residue.
"Hey," she said brightly. "You have a Church smell on you."
"I met the observer," I said.
Her grin widened. "Ooo. Was he scary?"
"No," I said honestly. "That's the problem."
She swung her legs down. "Relax. You're doing everything right."
"For now," I replied.
She tilted her head. "You're worried about something else."
I hesitated—then said it.
"He asked whether my healing would work if it required love instead of pleasure."
Lyra blinked.
"…Wow," she said. "That's a tough question."
"Yes."
She studied me for a moment, then shrugged. "Good thing it doesn't."
Maybe.
But as the clinic door closed behind me and the privacy wards sealed shut, I couldn't shake the feeling that the Church wasn't just watching what I did.
They were watching why.
And the difference between those two things might eventually decide whether I was allowed to exist at all.