The words hit me like a physical blow. My mother had worked with Lang?

  “That’s impossible,” I said, but even as I spoke, pieces were clicking into place. The modified containment runes I’d seen in the circles. The sophisticated understanding of boundary magic. The way the entire network seemed designed with principles my father had once explained to me—principles he’d learned from my mother.

  “It’s documented, though the Agency buried most records. They were colleagues in the early ‘90s, both working on boundary theory. They developed convergent gateways together but disagreed on application—she wanted controlled research, he wanted permanent access between realms. She tried to stop him by working with the Agency to classify the research as too dangerous.” Nadia’s expression was sympathetic. “When she died, he continued using her theories. And now, with the Scar you created, he has something better than the original research—a weak point already connected to a morph’s signature.”

  I took a step closer, entering the reading nook proper. “Why should I trust anything you’re telling me about my mother?”

  “You shouldn’t—not yet. Verify it yourself. But understand this: The Scar is weakening faster than you realize. Lang’s circles are applying pressure from multiple directions, and the seal you created won’t hold indefinitely.”

  A sudden noise from elsewhere in the library interrupted us—the distinctive sound of the security guard’s radio as they made their rounds. Nadia immediately dissolved the thread display, her expression alert but not panicked.

  “Security check,” she whispered. “They’ll be coming through this section in about thirty seconds.”

  I glanced around, assessing our options. The occult section had limited exits, and we’d almost certainly be spotted if the guard did a thorough check of the area.

  “Follow me,” Nadia said, standing. “And stay close.”

  Rather than heading for an exit, she moved deeper into the shelves, to a corner where the emergency lighting didn’t quite reach. The footsteps were growing closer, accompanied by the occasional crackle of the guard’s radio.

  “What are you⁠—”

  “Shhh.” She raised her hands, and those silver rings on her fingers seemed to gleam momentarily in the darkness. “Don’t move.”

  I felt it then—a subtle shift in the air around us, as though reality itself were being gently persuaded to look elsewhere. Nadia’s fingers moved in intricate patterns, manipulating invisible threads that seemed to wrap around us, bending light and attention away from our position.

  The security guard entered the occult section, flashlight beam sweeping systematically across the shelves. I held my breath as the light passed over our corner—and continued moving as though we weren’t there. The guard completed their check of the area, made a note on their clipboard, and moved on to the next section without the slightest indication they’d noticed us.

  Once the footsteps had receded, Nadia lowered her hands, looking slightly drained from the effort. “Threadweaving has its practical applications,” she said with a hint of pride. “I didn’t make us invisible—just redirected the threads of attention and perception around us.”

  “Impressive,” I acknowledged, genuinely intrigued by the demonstration. “But it doesn’t resolve my concerns about your motives.”

  “No,” she agreed, moving back toward the reading table. “That will take time.”

  From a small bag at her side, she withdrew another origami creation—this one in the shape of a crane, folded from paper that seemed to shimmer with embedded protective charms.

  “This contains information about Lang’s next planned site—coordinates, timing, how it connects to the Scar. More importantly, it includes details from your mother’s original research.”

  “Why give this to me?”

  “Because I believe you’ll use it responsibly.” Her violet eyes held mine steadily. “Not just following Agency protocols, but making decisions based on what’s actually happening.”

  “And what do you want in return?”

  “Your insights on the Scar—as the morph who created it, you’ll perceive things I might miss. And don’t tell the Agency about me or remind them of Lang’s connection to your mother. Not yet. They’ll bury that information again, along with anything that might help you understand how to stop him.”

  I considered her requests. The Agency would expect me to report any contact with individuals connected to the case. But if they were reminded of my mother’s connection to Lang, they might classify me as compromised and remove me from the investigation entirely.

  “I’ll consider your information,” I said finally, picking up the origami crane. “And I won’t immediately report this meeting. But I make no promises beyond that.”

  She nodded, accepting my conditions with a slight smile. “Fair enough.”

  Another noise came from elsewhere in the library—this time the distinctive sound of the front doors being opened. Nadia cocked her head, listening intently.

  “That’s not the regular security,” she said quietly. “Different rhythm to the footsteps. Multiple individuals.”

  I tensed, immediately thinking of Agency response teams. Had Mercer somehow tracked me here? Or was this another party entirely?

  “We need to leave,” I said, moving toward the service stairs I’d used to enter.

  Nadia shook her head. “Not that way. They’re spreading out through the building systematically.” She closed her eyes briefly, concentrating. “Three individuals, moving with purpose, carrying weapons. Lang’s operatives—their threads are connected to the same network as the summoning circles.”

  She moved to a window overlooking a narrow alley behind the library. “This way. The service entrance is already being watched.”

  I followed, the origami crane secure in my pocket alongside the fox and bird. “Can you hide us like you did with the security guard?”

  “Not from multiple observers actively looking for magical concealment.” She examined the window latch, then one of her silver rings. “I need to break the seal. Stand back.”

  I did as instructed, watching as she pressed the ring against the window’s edge. The silver began to glow faintly and the magical security seal that would normally trigger an alarm became visible as a thin blue line around the frame. Where the ring touched it, the line wavered and broke, creating a gap just large enough for the window to open without triggering the system.

  “Family design,” she said when she caught my questioning look. “Threadweavers develop tools that work with our specific abilities.”

  The window opened onto a narrow ledge with a fire escape ladder leading down to the alley. I climbed out carefully, the cold night air a sharp contrast to the library’s musty warmth. Nadia followed, closing the window behind her with practiced precision that reset the security seal, leaving no evidence of our passage.

  As we descended the fire escape, I could hear movement inside the building—voices, too muffled to distinguish words but urgent in tone. Lang’s people were conducting a thorough search, and their timing suggested they might be looking specifically for us.

  We reached the alley without incident, keeping to the shadows as we moved toward the street. Nadia led the way with quiet confidence, periodically pausing as though checking invisible pathways before proceeding.

  “Who were they?” I asked when we’d put sufficient distance between ourselves and the library.

  “Lang’s organization,” she said again. “Their thread patterns matched energies I’ve detected at the preparation sites.” She stopped at the corner of a quiet residential street. “If you want to continue this, leave your response in Theoretical Approaches to Inter-Realm Transit—third shelf, eastern occult section. It’s hollowed out. I check it regularly.”

  “And if I decide not to continue?”

  “Then I’ll assume you’ve reported me and adjust accordingly.” Her expression remained neutral, but I detected a hint of hope beneath her composed exterior. “But I think you’ll find my information valuable.”

  I nodded, not committing either way. “One last question. Mrs. Kaminski—how did you use her to deliver your message?”

  “Threadweaving allows temporary bridges between awareness. She remained herself, just with access to my words. She won’t remember it and she experienced no harm.”

  I wasn’t entirely satisfied with this explanation, but now wasn’t the time to debate magical ethics—not with Lang’s people potentially still looking for us.

  “I’ll consider everything,” I said finally. “Including what you’ve told me about my mother.”

  She stepped back into the shadows between streetlights. “Don’t take too long. The Scar won’t hold indefinitely.”

  With that, she turned and walked away, disappearing into the darkness. I remained where I stood for a moment, processing the encounter. The origami crane felt heavy in my pocket, laden with information that might prove crucial—or might be elaborate misdirection from a practitioner with her own hidden agenda.

  The energy I’d absorbed from Westside Park stirred within me, responding to the lingering impression of Nadia’s threadweaving. Whatever connection she had perceived between me and the summoning network, it was real enough to register in the very magic I’d taken into myself.

  As I made my way home through the quiet streets, I found myself wondering what other connections might exist that neither the Agency nor I had yet discovered—threads binding together my mother’s research, Lang’s obsession, and the weak point in reality I’d inadvertently created.

  The origami crane might provide answers. But the most troubling insight from tonight was simpler: My mother had worked with the man now trying to destroy everything. And the Scar I’d created was exactly what he needed to finish their shared research.

  Whatever that convergent gateway would unleash when the Scar finally tore open, none of us might be prepared to face.

  CHAPTER 8

  “Knowledge is the most valuable currency in the magical world, which is why those in power hoard it like dragons guarding gold.”—From “Information Hierarchies in Magical Governance,” author redacted (Shamrock Disposal Agency restricted archives)

  The Agency headquarters was never truly empty. Even at 2 a.m., a skeleton crew of security personnel and emergency response teams remained on duty, monitoring detection systems and maintaining readiness for unexpected supernatural threats. But the administrative sections, including the archives, operated on more conventional hours—nine to five, with occasional evening extensions during active investigations.

  Which meant that at 2:17 a.m., three days after my midnight meeting with Nadia Winters, I was definitely not supposed to be using my consultant credentials to access the Agency’s restricted archives.

  The origami crane she’d given me had contained exactly what she’d promised—coordinates for Lang’s next circle site, timing predictions, technical details about its intended design, and most importantly, detailed diagrams showing how it would direct energy specifically toward the City Plaza location where I’d created the Scar. I’d verified the information against Agency intelligence and found it disturbingly accurate, down to details that hadn’t been included in any briefing I’d attended. Either Nadia had access to classified Agency information or her threadweaving abilities truly allowed her to perceive connections beyond conventional magical detection.

  I’d left a carefully worded response in the hollowed-out book she’d specified, expressing cautious interest in continued information exchange without committing to anything that might compromise my position with the Agency. But the crane’s contents—and Nadia’s revelation about Lang being my mother’s former colleague—had raised questions I couldn’t ignore. Questions about convergent gateway theory, about what Elizabeth Drexler and Dr. Lang had discovered together, and about whether the Agency knew more than they were telling me about the connection between my mother’s death and Lang’s current activities.

  Those questions had led me here, searching for my mother’s research files—not to confirm she was a morph, which I’d known—but to understand exactly what she and Lang had developed together, and why the Agency had apparently buried that connection.

  The archives occupied the third sublevel, a labyrinth of temperature-controlled rooms housing everything from ancient grimoires to last week’s incident reports. I’d identified a security weakness during my first tour—a service corridor that required only basic credentials rather than the biometric confirmation demanded at the main entrance. The vulnerability had seemed like bureaucratic oversight at the time. Tonight, it was my way in.

  My consultant badge got me through the service door and into the restoration laboratory where damaged magical texts were repaired. This lab, like so much else of the Agency, was dark and silent, filled with partially disassembled books awaiting treatment. I moved quickly, heart pounding, toward the connecting door to the historical archives.

  Every electronic access left a digital trail. I was counting on the investigation’s urgency and bureaucratic inefficiency to delay anyone checking the logs.

  The historical archives stretched before me—ceiling-high shelves in neat rows, centuries of supernatural incidents documented in carefully preserved papers. The air was cool and dry, preserving fragile materials that chronicled humanity’s long relationship with magical forces.

  I moved directly to the catalog terminal. My objective was specific: my mother’s research on convergent gateway theory, particularly anything documenting her collaboration with Lang and the circumstances that led to their falling out.

  The catalog revealed several promising references—incident reports from the early 1990s describing unauthorized boundary research and theoretical protocols requiring immediate restriction; a case file from 1993 documenting the Drexler–Lang Collaboration Termination; and most intriguingly, a restricted monograph titled “Convergent Gateway Protocols: Theoretical Applications and Containment Strategies” co-authored by Senior Researcher Elizabeth Drexler and Dr. Lang.

  Co-authored. My mother and Lang had published research together, before whatever had driven them apart.

  I stared at the screen, my hands trembling. There it was—proof that Nadia had told the truth. My mother’s name linked to Lang’s on official Agency records. Elizabeth Drexler, the woman I remembered only in fragments of childhood memory—her laugh, the smell of her perfume, the way she’d held me when I was scared—had collaborated with the man now trying to tear reality apart.

  Something fundamental shifted in my understanding. I’d thought my as a victim—first of her work, then of the Unseelie Hunter that had killed her. But this suggested she’d been a player in events far larger than I’d known. She and Lang had created the theory he was now weaponizing.

  The question burned: Had she known what he would become? Had she seen the obsession that would lead him here?

  The monograph itself was coded with security I couldn’t breach without triggering alarms. But the case file about their collaboration’s termination was within my consultant clearance level, at least for viewing.

  I located the 1993 case file in Section 12-D—a box marked Researcher Ethics Violations - Classified. I carried it to a nearby reading station and began photographing pages immediately.

  The collaboration had begun in 1989, when both were mid-level researchers working on boundary theory. Elizabeth Drexler had the theoretical brilliance, mathematical models for stable cross-realm pathways. Lang brought the practical application of years spent studying traditional summoning methods and how to enhance their effectiveness.

  Together, they’d created convergent gateway theory: multiple synchronized summoning circles creating a single, stable portal allowing controlled passage between realms. Not temporary manifestations, but permanent bridges.

  The early research was promising. They’d successfully demonstrated small-scale proofs of concept, creating sustained connections between pocket dimensions that remained stable for hours. The Agency had been supportive, seeing potential for revolutionary advances.

  Then, in late 1992, something changed.

  A memo from Elizabeth to Lang, marked URGENT - IMMEDIATE CESSATION REQUIRED.

  The latest calculations are catastrophic. The convergent model doesn’t just create stable pathways, it fundamentally weakens boundary integrity across ALL connected realms. We’re not opening doors; we’re creating structural failures. The math is undeniable. We must stop immediately and destroy all working prototypes. The risk is too great.

  Lang’s response, dated two days later said,

  Elizabeth: Your claim of catastrophic calculations assumes worst-case scenarios that ignore the stabilization protocols I’ve developed. The convergent gateway represents humanity’s greatest opportunity to transcend our limited realm. I will not abandon this research based on theoretical fears.

  I read the exchange three times, hearing their voices in my head. My mother, seeing disaster ahead and trying desperately to prevent it. Lang, so consumed by a vision that he’d dismissed the warnings of the woman who’d helped him build the theory in the first place.

  This was where it had started. Not with the summoning circles appearing across the city, not with the Scar at City Plaza. It had started here, years ago, with two researchers who’d seen different futures in the same discovery.

  The final entries in the file were the most damning.

  An incident report from January 1993 described an unauthorized experimental activation conducted by Lang without Elizabeth’s knowledge or Agency approval. He’d created a three-circle convergent gateway in an abandoned warehouse, attempting to prove his stabilization protocols worked.

  They didn’t.

  The gateway had torn open, but instead of creating a controlled passage, it had created cascading failures across multiple boundary points. Three Agency containment specialists had been killed, the warehouse had been reduced to rubble, and the weak point created by the failed experiment had taken months to fully seal.