The knock came just after noon—three short taps, one long. Clean. Rhythmic. The kind used by trained messengers who didn't want to startle anyone, but weren't afraid of being heard.
Alaric didn't move right away. He'd been staring at the sealed book for the better part of an hour, waiting for it to open again. It hadn't. The clasp eye stayed closed now, like it was sleeping—or watching without blinking.
He finally stood and walked to the door. When he opened it, he found a girl no older than twenty standing in the entryway. She wore silver-trimmed blue, the quiet uniform of the Church's outer agents—polite, clean, not yet the type who carried swords.
"Seraphine Veyron," she said without looking at him. "You're requested for a containment evaluation by the Chaplaincy's Resonance Department."
Alaric narrowed his eyes. "She's not a mage."
"That's not the concern."
"Then explain."
