"He’s been teaching at Greenwood for decades. He has tenure and a well-established local network.
He can mobilize local forces within hours, far faster than I can send people down from the Imperial Capital."
The old man’s words were blunt.
Richard stood by the phone, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say.
He’d known his grandfather to be concise, stern, and aloof, but never had he heard him so directly admit there was something he couldn’t do.
"I understand," Richard said.
"And don’t get the wrong idea about the family because of this," Gerald added.
"The promises the Ashford Family made to you still stand. They won’t change because of what happened tonight."
"I know."
"Hang up."
"Hanging up now."
Richard returned the receiver to its cradle first.
The light in the phone booth flickered, as if the current was unstable.
In the Imperial Capital’s West District, Harrow School maintained an exclusive study hall for its upperclassmen.
Philips was one of the room’s regular occupants.
Harrow allowed high-achieving students to apply to rent small, private studies, giving them a dedicated space to prepare for university entrance exams and study independently.
Philips’s study was on the east side of the third floor, with a window that looked out directly onto the school’s rugby field.
Every afternoon, he would arrive at four o’clock sharp and stay for two hours. He had a habit of placing his teacup on the same spot on his desk—just to the left of center, with a margin of error no greater than half an inch.
The desktop in this spot was a shade darker than the surrounding wood, stained by the heat from the bottom of his cup over the years.
On Monday afternoon, as he pushed the door open, a moth materialized out of thin air and then vanished. Where his teacup should have been, there was now a clay token and a letter.
He was holding his freshly brewed black tea and hadn’t even put the cup down.
Staring at the two items, Philips hesitated for less than ten seconds before backing out of the study the way he came, still holding his teacup. He didn’t even glance at the letter’s contents.
He relocked the door and went straight downstairs to the porter’s lodge at Harrow School’s main gate, where he asked to use an internal telephone.
He dialed the direct line to his father’s office.
An unfamiliar male voice answered.
"I’m looking for your Chief Inspector," Philips said, stating his name and identity.
He had been at the phone for less than a minute before his father’s voice came on the line.
Bartholomew didn’t ask, "What’s wrong?"
He knew it couldn’t be a trivial matter for his son to go to the trouble of calling his office directly.
Philips described what he had just seen in three concise sentences, then fell silent, waiting for a response.
The line was silent for about five seconds.
"Don’t go back to the study," Bartholomew said.
"Understood."
"Wait at the school’s porter’s lodge. I’m sending a Secretive One I know to you."
"Okay."
"Did you touch it?"
"No."
"Good."
The call ended.
Westwick, a Secretive One at the Minor Mastery level, arrived at Harrow School and followed Philips into the study.
The man stood before the clay token for about a minute before placing a leather case on the floor and squatting to open it.
The case was neatly divided into a dozen or so small compartments, each containing a different type of Casting Medium.
Westwick took out a porcelain vial and sprinkled a pinch of gray powder around the clay token.
After sprinkling the powder, the man began to chant a Curse Spell.
As he finished the final syllable, the clay token inside the circle of powder burst into flames.
Unlike being lit with an oxidizer, the clay token began to burn on its own, from the inside out.
Soon, it was reduced to a small pile of powder, lying quietly on the desk.
Westwick took a Small Copper Spoon from his leather case.
He carefully scooped the pile of powder into a Small Glass Bottle, sealed it, and placed it in a Sealing Box.
Once he had finished his work, he spoke for the first time. "The token itself has been dealt with."
"The traces of its delivery have been cleared as well."
His gaze swept around the study.
"The delivery location was very deliberately chosen."
"They didn’t target your home. Your house is protected by a Grand Mastery Level Seal. The directional Technique of a Spirit Realm Messenger can’t penetrate that shield.
So, they chose a location from your daily routine with the weakest protection, but one you frequent regularly."
"The study," Philips said.
"Mhm." Westwick nodded. "This study has no protections from the Mysterious Side, but you spend two hours here every day.
To be able to breach Harrow’s outer shielding and deliver the token to the exact spot where you place your teacup... The person who sent this is at least at the Minor Mastery level, possibly higher."
Philips stared at his desk, feeling deeply unsettled.
He had never imagined that such an ordinary, private space could one day become an entryway for others to intrude.
At the Royal Academy’s Classics Department, Montague had his own research cabinet in the department library.
The Royal Academy permitted certain outstanding preparatory students to use the research spaces in the department library ahead of schedule.
Montague had held this privilege since he was fourteen years old.
The research cabinets were shared among all students in the Classics Department, but each one was assigned to a specific user, with the key issued only to them.
Montague found the clay token and letter the moment he opened his cabinet.
The Montague family were all Cultivators of the Sun Tradition, and the current head of the family was Montague’s grandfather, the Earl of Salisbury.
He was a rather rare Sun Traditional Hunter within the Empire.
Although the five great Traditions have their own leanings, the three great Directions can actually be combined in any arrangement.
Sometimes, special combinations—for instance, the Secret Direction paired with the Moon-Hunting Tradition, the Scholar Direction with the Weaving Net Tradition, or the Hunter’s Direction with the Sun Tradition—could produce all sorts of fascinating chemical reactions.

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