Sandalphon remained still long after Zadkiel had been dismissed.
Silence gathered easily in the highest tower. It lived there, pressed into the pale stone and polished glass, settled in the white drapery that hung motionless from the arched windows. Nothing in his chambers ever dared disorder itself. Not the scrolls arranged in careful rows. Not the silver instruments laid in exact alignment upon the long table beneath the eastern wall. Not the wind itself, which passed the tower in a hush so clean it scarcely seemed to belong to the Light Realm at all.
Yet disorder had entered all the same. He could still hear Zadkiel's voice, hurried despite his efforts to govern it.
Aamon has somehow acquired the ability to touch the mortals without harming them.
Twice, Zadkiel had said. Twice with no mistake. Twice with his own eyes.
Sandalphon turned his gaze toward the Gazing Mirror. It stood taller than any mortal man, framed in pale gold that had never dimmed with time. Its surface was smooth as still water, silver-white and empty until summoned. For many centuries it had been little more than a ceremonial instrument. During the age of Nephilim, the Light Realm had needed little from the Mortal Realm to sustain itself. Powerful souls had come in abundance. Miracles had not needed to be performed with such care. Observation had not required such vigilance.
Those days were gone.
Slowly, Sandalphon descended the shallow steps from his throne and approached the mirror. His reflection formed first, thin and austere in white robes lit by the faint, holy glow that lived in every surface of the chamber. His face revealed little. It rarely needed to.
"Aamon," he murmured, though the name was not spoken with affection.
The mirror answered with a shiver. Light moved across its surface in widening circles. The Mortal Realm took shape by fragments: dark trees, wet grass, the faint suggestion of a path cut through brush. The place Zadkiel had described. The forest where the Sovereign had been seen in the company of the mortal woman.
Sandalphon narrowed his gaze. The image wavered. He waited.
The trees sharpened. The earth stilled. A shadow passed through the frame and dissolved before it could take recognizable form. He adjusted his focus, drawing a little more power into the glass. This time the distortion thickened instead of clearing. It moved like breath against cold glass, veiling the center of the image just as a smaller form should have emerged.
Not absence, but interference. Static. Something in the Mortal Realm resisted the mirror's sight.
Sandalphon stood without moving, every thought narrowing to a fine and dangerous point.
Again, the image shifted. He caught the edge of black cloth. A shoulder, perhaps. A hand disappearing from view almost as quickly as it had appeared. Then the silver surface shuddered violently, and the entire scene dissolved into pale static light.
He lifted one hand and the mirror stilled at once. His expression did not change, though his thoughts moved swiftly beneath the calm. Aamon was concealing something. That much was no longer in question.
No known force in any realm should have granted the Sovereign the ability to touch a mortal without burning her. No ordinary bargain explained the obscurity in the mirror, either. If Aamon had gained access to some hidden power tied to the coming Soul Shift, that alone would be reason enough for concern.
But Sandalphon did not believe this was merely a matter of power. The distortion had gathered not around the tress, but around the girl.
He looked again into the now-quiet mirror and saw only his own reflection staring back at him, pale and thoughtful and entirely unsurprised by the ugliness of divine ambition. The connection between realms had become increasingly unreliable in recent years. Threads blurred. Sightlines weakened. Certain movements in the Mortal Realm had grown more difficult to trace cleanly. The Light had attributed it to the strain of the coming Shift.
Now he wondered. Old blood had once complicated everything.
Nephilim had been troublesome even before they began tipping the scales too far. Too much power housed in forms too close to mortal. Too much crossing between realms. Too much appetite, too much miracle, too much consequence. Their existence had forced labor from Heaven that should never have been necessary so long as order remained intact.
And now Aamon hid a mortal girl behind distortions that should not exist. Sandalphon folded his hands behind his back. The chamber doors opened at his silent command. An attendant entered, head bowed, waiting.
"Send word," Sandalphon said. "Preparations for the Soul Shift will proceed in the Mortal Realm at once."
The attendant lowered himself further. "Yes, Magnate."
"Quietly," Sandalphon added. "No deviation from official purpose."
The attendant hesitated only long enough to show he understood the precision of the order. "And Zadkiel, Magnate?"
Sandalphon let his eyes rest once more upon the mirror.
"Zadkiel will continue observing the Sovereign," he said. "I want reports on every irregularity, no matter how small."
The attendant bowed and withdrew. Silence reclaimed the chamber.
Sandalphon stood before the Gazing Mirror until the silver surface dimmed and turned once more into an empty sheet of white light. Officially, the Light would enter the Mortal Realm for the Soul Shift.
Unofficially, that mortal woman was now under investigation.