Northbrook Sect's gates felt heavier when Cael passed through them.
Not physically—nothing so dramatic—but familiar in a way that settled his nerves. Stone worn smooth by generations of disciples. The faint scent of ink and dust carried on the breeze. Even the distant shouts from the training grounds felt reassuring.
Jin clapped him on the shoulder. "Next time an elder says simple errand, I'm pretending to be sick."
Bo laughed. "You did fine. You didn't even die."
Ren nodded once. "That counts as success."
Cael smiled at them, genuinely grateful. "Thank you. All of you. I'll… see you soon."
They parted at the inner paths, and Cael headed straight for the library.
The Bookkeeper listened without interrupting.
Cael recounted the delays.The intentional waiting.The insults—carefully, without embellishment.And finally, the way the situation had collapsed under its own weight.
The Bookkeeper stared at him in silence for a long moment after Cael finished.
"…That information," the elder said slowly, "should never have surfaced."
Cael nodded. "It didn't feel planned. It just… happened."
The elder exhaled through his nose, something between disbelief and reluctant admiration. "For something so well-hidden to unravel like that requires either exceptional incompetence…"
He paused.
"…or fate with a cruel sense of humor."
Cael hesitated. "Elder… may I ask something?"
The Bookkeeper gestured lazily. "You already are."
Cael chose his words carefully. "That relationship. Between the elder and his mother. How could something like that go unnoticed?"
The Bookkeeper grimaced. "People who think they're untouchable stop being careful."
Cael nodded slowly.
Then—unhelpfully—his mind supplied a thought he did not want.
A deeply, profoundly wrong what if.
His stomach lurched.
Cael clapped a hand over his mouth and turned sharply away.
"…I just imagined consequences," he muttered.
The Bookkeeper raised an eyebrow. "Do not."
"I didn't want to," Cael said quickly. "My brain betrayed me."
"Some lines of thought," the elder said dryly, "exist only to punish the thinker."
Cael swallowed hard and took several steady breaths, Star-Tilted rhythm restoring order to his churning stomach.
"I think," he said carefully, "I will never think about that again."
"Wise," the Bookkeeper replied.
He reached out and took the returned volumes, checking the bindings with practiced hands. All intact. All dry.
"Well done," he said at last. "You exercised restraint. You did not escalate. And yet… the problem resolved itself."
Cael bowed. "I only followed your instructions."
The elder glanced at him sideways. "Did you?"
Cael straightened, uncertain.
The Bookkeeper turned back to the shelves. "Go eat. You've earned it."
Cael did not argue.
As he left the library, the system stirred faintly within him—not surging, not prompting.
Just present.
Watching.
And Cael resolved, with absolute sincerity, to never again let his imagination wander into places that could make him lose his breakfast.