The night that followed the order given to Kenji was one of absolute calm.
Catherine did not sleep. She sat in her library, the file on the Fire spread out before her, her mind a hive of plans and counter-plans.
She waited. Early in the morning, there was a soft knock on her door. It was Kenji. He did not enter. He simply spoke through the wood, his voice a neutral whisper:
"The Magistrate sends word that the conduit has been sealed. There are no more leaks."
Then, he was gone. The conduit has been sealed. A euphemism for the murder of a child.
Catherine stared at the door, her face impassive. She did not feel the spike of guilt or grief that a part of her had expected. She felt only a cold emptiness and a resolve that was harder still. A price had been paid. It was time to claim her due.
Her target was Jun-Ho Park. A man who had lived with a deadly secret for thirty years. Such a man would be neither stupid nor welcoming.
He would be a cornered animal, paranoid and potentially dangerous. To send Mathieu to knock on his door as a stranger was a death sentence. She had to provide him with a disguise, a reason for being there that Park, despite his mistrust, could not ignore.
She spent the day crafting the perfect cover story. Mathieu would not go as a spy, but as himself: a bureaucrat. It was the role he knew best. She mentally drafted the script.
Mathieu would introduce himself as a clerk from the cadastral archives office, tasked with a routine audit of old properties in the district. He would explain that a recent analysis of the ledgers had revealed a minor anomaly in the original property deed for Park's building, an anomaly dating back to the time of its purchase, thirty years prior. It was plausible, boring, and terribly bureaucratic.
To resolve it, a visual inspection of the original signature on the deed kept by the homeowner was required by procedure.
It was a brilliant pretext. It gave Mathieu a legitimate reason to be there, to enter the house, and to gauge the man in person. His mission would not be to confront, but to observe: Park's state of mind, his defenses, the presence of any guards or security systems.
A pure reconnaissance mission.
The problem of communication remained. The dead drop on the square was burned. She had to find another way, just as indirect. She considered using young Leo again. The thought left a taste of ash in her mouth, but she dismissed it. The predator's logic took over. A tool is a tool.
She prepared a new list of mystical reagents. This time, she included rare herbs and a special flour "for the creation of truth incense."
She knew, from reading one of Valerius's almanacs, that there was only one bakery in the city that imported this particular flour, a shop named "The Gilded Loaf," located not far from the Scriptorium. It was a known meeting spot for civil servants.
She entrusted the mission to Leo, with the same instructions as the first time: give the list to the shopkeeper, and if he was perplexed, he was to fetch the clerk Mathieu, who would know what to do. Inside the note, in a hidden fold, was the detailed plan for the reconnaissance mission, including the name Jun-Ho Park, the address, and the script to be performed.
The order was sent. Once again, Catherine was plunged into an agonizing wait, a prisoner in her velvet tower.
She forbade herself from using her vision to monitor the messenger or the transmission. The risk of being detected by Soren was too great. She had to operate blind, relying solely on the intelligence of her plan and the devotion of Mathieu.
It was not until late in the afternoon that she sensed a change. Mathieu's thread, which she perceived as a distant glimmer, changed color.
The gold of his devotion was still there, but it was now streaked with the black of terror and the gray of steel the color of resolve in the face of imminent danger. He had received the message. He was preparing himself.
She could not resist. She had to see.
Not to spy on him, but to protect him, to be his eye in the sky. She closed her eyes, risking only a minimal connection, just enough to follow his movements, a projection so faint she hoped it would pass under Soren's radar.
She felt him cross the city, heading toward the ill-reputed Weavers' District, the Rook's Nest. She felt the oppressive atmosphere of the place, even from a distance. Narrow alleys, dilapidated buildings leaning against each other like conspiring old men. This was The Rook's territory, she was certain of it. Every shadow felt hostile.
She followed Mathieu to Number 17, Spinners' Alley. It was a building of black brick, larger and better maintained than its neighbors, but its windows were grimy and blind.
A fortress of solitude. Mathieu stood before the door for a long moment, gathering his courage. Catherine felt his heart pounding through their invisible connection.
He raised his hand to knock.
At that precise moment, Catherine, emboldened, pushed her vision a little further, just enough to pierce the building's facade, to read the room behind the door.
She expected to feel the presence of a single, paranoid old man. And she did feel it. A faint and frightened life-thread, gray in color, that of Jun-Ho Park. But there was something else. Another presence. Another set of threads, right beside the old man's.
These threads were calm, orderly, and of a steel blue she knew all too well. Cold, disciplined, and lethally loyal.
It was Kenji's signature. Or someone like him.
A cold sweat broke out on Catherine's brow. Jun-Ho Park was not alone. He hadn't been left to languish. He had a guard. A protector.
A jailer.
For thirty years, The Rook had been making sure his most precious secret was well kept.
Mathieu raised his fist to knock on the door.
No! Catherine screamed in the silence of her mind, a silent plea that could not cross the distance between them.
Don't go in! It's a trap!
But it was too late. She could only watch, powerless, as her most faithful pawn prepared to walk straight into the wolf's den.