The summons came in the Natural Philosophy section at eleven-seventeen, tucked into the surveying methodology book at the forty-third position on the third shelf: a folded square of paper no larger than a thumbnail, written in ink that required the correct Lumos variant to read. Elias stood with his back to the nearest mirror, angled so that the book's spine blocked the glass's sightline to his hands, and held the paper at the level of the page he was pretending to read.
Four words. Not Brennan's hand, not Sera's. The letters were small and vertical, written under evident compression, each character formed with the economy of someone who had spent years reducing her own visible surface area to the minimum consistent with function.
*corridor. tonight. bring the diagram.*
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