Page 188

I smile to myself as I sit back down. The notebook is exactly where I'd left it. My quill has already been cleaned. I frown. I pick it up anyway. Still warm. Professor Neris appears beside our table carrying another stack of journals. Without a word, she places them carefully between Nyra and me. "They were misfiled."

Nyra immediately reaches for the first volume. "These aren't Academy records."

"No." Professor Neris folds her hands behind her back. "They're private correspondence."

I put my quill down. "Between whom?"

"Wardkeepers."

My pulse quickens. "They wrote to each other?"

"When official reports failed to explain what they were witnessing..." She allows herself the faintest smile. "They wrote to people they trusted."

I exchange a glance with Nyra. Exactly what we were doing. The first letter is almost impossible to read. The ink has faded. Corners have crumbled away. Still...One sentence remains perfectly legible. The wards did not weaken. They hesitated. Nyra copies it immediately. Cassian looks up from another table. "Hesitated?"

I nod slowly. "That's different."

Professor Neris watches us quietly. "Words matter." Then she walks away. Hours blur together. Every so often someone finds something important enough to interrupt the silence. "Cassian?" I call.

"Hm?" He looks up.

"I found another account describing manifestations failing simultaneously."

He puts his book down. "I'm coming."

"Caelen?" Nyra calls.

"Yes?"

"Do we have another copy of the western patrol map?" She asks.

"Second shelf."

"Thank you."

"Rhyven?" A pause.

"What."

"This corridor disappears after the Silent War."

"I know." He says flatly.

"Why?" I frown.

"...Find out."

No one wastes energy speaking more than necessary. The work itself has become the conversation. Near sunset Nyra suddenly stops writing. I notice because Nyra never stops writing. She stares at one page for nearly a full minute. "What is it?"

She doesn't answer immediately. Instead she slides the journal toward me. "Read the last paragraph."

I lower my eyes. The handwriting belongs to an elderly wardkeeper. The final sentence reads: If the wards truly failed, we would all know. Something else is choosing when they answer. A chill runs through me. "What does that mean?" My voice is barely a whisper.

"I don't know." Nyra whispers too. "But I don't think he meant the wards were broken." She taps the page. "I think he meant someone interfered."

Across the room Rhyven looks up. Not because he heard the words. Because he heard our silence. He walks over. "What." Nyra passes him the journal. He reads the paragraph once. Then again. His expression doesn't change. But I notice his jaw tighten. Barely. "We copy it." He hands it back. "And every other letter written by the same keeper."

Cassian is already halfway to the catalogue before Rhyven finishes speaking. "I'll find them."