“Regional representatives. Or anyone acting on their behalf.”
I pull another volume from the shelf—Rune Applications in Ley Line Stabilization, 1985. I’m not looking for rune theory. I’m looking for something else.
“Damon. Have you noticed any runes at the quarry? Recent ones. Applied in the last few years, not the old ward work.”
He frowns. “I maintain the perimeter wards. I’d notice if someone added runes to my work.”
“What about inside the quarry itself? Past the perimeter?”
“I don’t go inside. Nobody does. It’s too unstable—you start feeling the effects the moment you cross the boundary. Disorientation, power surges, the works.”
“So anyone could have placed runes inside the quarry, and you wouldn’t know.”
The implication lands. Damon sets his book down slowly.
“I’ve been maintaining those perimeter wards for six years,” he says. “Every month, same pattern, same sequence. If someone got past them without triggering an alert, they either knew the ward structure or they had access to the original designs.”
“Who has access to the original designs?”
“My aunt. Me. The Council archives in Chicago.” He pauses. “And whoever held the keeper role before the Ashes stopped doing it.”
“The Ashes. Whose family records are now classified.”
Damon stands, pushing his chair back. “I need to check something.”
“Check what?”
“The original ward schematics. My aunt keeps them in the vault. If someone’s been modifying the wards from inside, there might be a signature—a magical fingerprint that doesn’t match mine.”
He leaves the library, and I hear his footsteps fade down the hall. I turn back to the books, pulling texts from the shelf faster now, scanning for anything that connects the missing Ash records to the bonding failure rate to the Rift flares. The pieces are there. I can feel them. But they won’t line up.
Then I find it. Tucked into the back of a 1994 compendium on Omega magic—Addendum: Notes on Observed Anomalies in Willowbrook Bonding Ceremonies, 1991-1994. The handwriting is different from the main text. Neater. More clinical.
Subject: Three separate bonding attempts between compatible Alpha-Omega pairs. In each case, the bond was initiated successfully and confirmed by both parties. Within 72 hours, the bond dissolved without external interference. No physical cause identified. No magical interference detected in standard diagnostic scans. Recommend investigation into possible environmental factors affecting bond permanence.
Three failed bonds in three years. All confirmed, all dissolved. No explanation.
The addendum is unsigned, but at the bottom, there’s a notation:Filed with Regional Representative V. Ash, for review.
V. Ash.
I stare at the name until the letters blur.
Damon returns with a rolled parchment in his hand, his face pale.
“The ward schematics,” he says. “There’s a second layer. Underneath mine. Someone added a secondary ward structure to the quarry perimeter—been there for at least a decade, maybe longer. It’s designed to look like my work, but the signature’s different. The rune construction is different.”
“Can you identify it?”
“I’ve never seen this style before. It’s not Council standard. It’s not any style I recognize from the texts in this library.” He unrolls the parchment on the table, his finger tracing a line of runes I can barely make out. “But there’s something else. The secondary wards aren’t just protective. They’re directional. They’re channeling energy from the ley lines into the quarry, not keeping it in. Feeding it.”
“Someone’s been funneling magic into the Rift.”
“Someone’s been feeding it. For years. Maybe decades.”
I point to the notation on the addendum. “V. Ash. Does that name mean anything to you?”
Damon looks down at the page. His face goes from pale to something worse.
