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"Normal."

"Movement?"

"Functional."

"Then what exactly is wrong?"

Professor Vayne answers. "Magic no longer passes through the limb." That is new.

Nyra looks toward me. I know. The Hollowborn take access. But now, contact with whatever is happening can remove access without taking the person. Gods.

"Did he lose the victim?" Neris asks rhetorically.

"Yes."

"Did the interruption alter the event?" A Council representative asks.

"Possibly." The report continues. Oren held her. The pull increased. Something pulled back. His arm went numb. Not physically. Magically. Then the woman was gone. But it took longer. Seconds instead of instant.

Rhyven leans closer. "How much longer?"

"Estimated two to three." That sounds like nothing. It isn't. Two to three seconds is forever when every disappearance we've seen happens almost immediately.

"It can be resisted." I say. Nobody answers. I look toward Vayne. "Not stopped."

"Correct."

"But interrupted."

"Possibly." Nyra gives him an approving glance for the word.

"Good." Rhyven says. Everyone looks at him. Not because this is good. Because it's the first weakness we've seen. He knows it. "Tell them to document exactly what Oren felt." Rhyven continues. "Before contact. During. After. Get dragon behavior from the same minute. Ward output. Nearby manifestations. Everything."

A Council aide writes. For the next two hours, the chamber turns into something between a war room and a classroom. Varethia teaches. Elarion listens. The thought feels wrong. Still true.

We explain containment. Cassian explains siren-gap detection. Nyra explains pattern mapping. Professor Vayne outlines manifestation suppression protocols.

Caelen reviews response-unit structure. Rhyven reorganizes dragon patrol recommendations. My father coordinates the Council. I answer Blood Echo questions. Again. Again. Again. At some point, someone puts coffee beside Rhyven. Me. I don't think about it. I get one for myself. Set his down beside his hand while he's arguing with an Elarion officer about patrol fatigue. Rhyven doesn't stop talking. Doesn't look. Just reaches. Drinks. Continues. That's it. It feels strangely normal.

By four in the morning, Elarion has established temporary response sectors. By five, paired dragon patrols. By six, civilian movement restrictions. By seven, continuous ward monitoring. Exactly what we did. Faster. Because now someone can tell them what mistakes not to make. That should feel like victory. It doesn't.

Morning light starts coming through the high chamber windows. Nobody has slept. Rhyven looks terrible. So does everyone. Nyra has ink along three fingers and one cheek. Cassian is drinking his fifth cup of something. Caelen has stopped pretending chairs aren't useful. I sit beside him.

Another relay crystal lights. Everyone looks. Too fast.

Too instinctive. The voice is different this time. Male.

Shaking. "Southern command." Rhyven straightens.

"Report."

"Another disappearance." Silence.

"Location?"

"Lethyr settlement."

Nyra's quill moves. "Time?"