The summons arrived without ceremony.
No seal. No crest. No demand for immediate attendance.
Just a folded scrap of paper slipped under the clinic door sometime before dawn, edges damp from the night air.
South road. Mile marker seven. Before the sun clears the ridge.
I read it twice.
Then a third time, slower, letting the meaning settle into my bones.
Seraphina was right. Of course she was.
They'd moved the problem away from me.
I dressed quietly, movements automatic—boots, coat, knife at the small of my back more out of habit than confidence. The warmth in my palms stirred as I buckled the strap, like it sensed what was coming and didn't care whether I was ready.
I wasn't.
Before I could open the door, a shadow shifted by the window.
Lyra's voice followed, soft and entirely unapologetic. "You're terrible at sneaking."
"I wasn't trying," I said.
She slipped inside, damp hair loose, eyes bright in the low light. She smelled like wet stone and burnt sigils.
"Good," she said. "Because you weren't going alone."
I sighed. "This isn't—"
"A date? Yeah, I know," she cut in. "Relax. I'm not tagging along. I'm shadowing."
"You're not subtle."
"I'm selectively invisible," she corrected. "Big difference."
A knock came at the door.
Three measured taps.
Isolde.
She stood outside in travel armor, lighter than her usual kit but no less lethal for it. Her expression took in Lyra, my half-laced boots, the tension in my shoulders.
"You're leaving the grounds," she said.
"Yes."
"Unescorted."
"No."
She nodded once. "Good."
She didn't ask where. Didn't ask why.
Just turned and walked.
Seraphina waited at the gate.
No attendants. No colors. Just her cloak pulled tight, frost whispering faintly at the hem like a promise she hadn't decided whether to keep.
"Tell me you didn't come alone," she said.
"I didn't," I replied.
Lyra waved cheerfully from behind a pillar.
Seraphina sighed. "Of course."
The road south was quieter than it should have been.
Morning mist clung low to the ground, muffling sound, blurring distance. Birds watched from fence posts but didn't sing. The smell of damp earth and old leaves filled my lungs, grounding and uneasy at the same time.
Mile marker seven appeared like an accusation.
A cart stood just off the road, one wheel shattered, its contents spilled into the ditch—crates, cloth, a broken lantern. No blood.
That worried me more than if there had been.
I slowed. Seraphina matched my pace without looking at me. Isolde drifted wide, scanning the treeline. Lyra vanished entirely, which meant she was very close.
A figure stood near the cart, hands raised.
Young. Not a child. Not much older than the student from the hall. Brown hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Fear rolled off him in waves.
"I didn't do it," he blurted the moment he saw us. "I swear I didn't—"
"Breathe," I said, holding up a hand. "Tell me what happened."
He swallowed hard. "They said there was a woman in the village. Sick. Fever that wouldn't break. They said if I brought you here, they'd let my sister go."
My chest tightened. "Where is she?"
He shook his head, tears welling. "I don't know. They didn't say. Just—just that she was taken to keep me honest."
Seraphina's frost flared, sharp and bright.
Isolde's hand settled on her sword.
Lyra reappeared at my side, eyes hard. "Classic."
I crouched in front of the boy. "What's your name?"
"E—Edrin," he stammered.
"Edrin," I said gently. "You did the right thing coming here. You didn't hurt anyone."
He shook his head. "The woman—she's in the cart."
My heart sank.
We moved together, slow and careful.
She lay beneath a blanket in the back of the cart, skin flushed, breathing shallow. The smell hit me immediately—rot beneath sweetness. Infection. Advanced. Untreated.
And something else.
"Don't," Lyra said quietly. "Not yet."
I froze.
She leaned in, eyes unfocused, listening to something I couldn't hear. "There's a trigger woven into her aura. Not lethal. Surveillance. If you start full healing here, it pings someone."
Seraphina's voice was ice. "They baited you with a dying woman."
I clenched my jaw. "Can I stabilize her without tripping it?"
Lyra nodded slowly. "Barely. Enough to buy time."
"That's all I need," I said.
I placed my hands on the woman's wrists, careful to keep the warmth low, diffuse. The sensation under my skin was wrong—sticky, resistant, like trying to push heat through mud.
Her breath hitched.
"Easy," I murmured. "I've got you."
[Patient Receptiveness: 29%]
[Condition: Advanced Sepsis]
[External Trigger Detected: Passive Monitoring]
I fed warmth in pulses, not enough to heal, just enough to keep her organs from failing outright. Sweat broke out along my spine as the trigger hummed, impatient but not activated.
Seraphina watched the treeline like she expected it to answer back.
Isolde moved closer to Edrin, placing herself between him and the road.
Lyra's fingers danced in the air, tracing counter-patterns, muting the surveillance just enough to blur its signal.
The woman's breathing steadied—still shallow, but less frantic.
I pulled back, hands shaking.
"She won't last long like this," I said. "Hours. Maybe less."
"That's the point," Seraphina replied. "They want you to choose."
Edrin broke down then, sobbing openly. "Please. She's my aunt. She raised us. They said if you refused, she'd die and it would be your fault."
I stood slowly.
"They want me to come to them," I said. "On their terms."
Lyra nodded. "And if you do, they escalate. If you don't—" She glanced at the woman. "They still escalate."
Isolde's voice was steady. "Where do they expect you to go?"
Edrin wiped his face with his sleeve. "Old mill. East of the village. They said you'd know."
Of course they did.
I looked at Seraphina.
She met my gaze without hesitation. "You're not going alone."
"I wasn't planning to," I said.
She shook her head. "Not like this. You go as yourself."
Understanding clicked into place.
Visibility.
Not a rescue. A refusal to be moved in the dark.
I turned to Edrin. "Can you carry a message?"
He nodded frantically.
"Tell them this," I said. "I'm coming. But not quietly. And if your sister is harmed—" I paused, choosing my words with care. "—there will be consequences they can't hide from."
Lyra grinned, sharp as a blade. "Oh, I like that phrasing."
We moved fast after that.
Isolde took Edrin back toward the academy with orders to keep him in sight and safe. Lyra stayed close, weaving interference into the air like smoke. Seraphina walked beside me, steps sure, expression set.
The mill loomed ahead as the sun finally crested the ridge.
Rotting wood. Broken windows. The smell of stagnant water and old grain.
A place meant for endings.
Or so they thought.
I stopped just outside the threshold.
"Once we step in," I said quietly, "there's no pretending this is contained."
Seraphina placed a hand over mine.
The warmth rose—but didn't surge.
It waited.
"Then don't pretend," she said. "Let them see exactly who they're dealing with."
I nodded.
And stepped into the silence that had been pointing here all along.