Retaliation didn't come for me.
It never does, not at first.
It came sideways.
I knew something was wrong the moment the clinic smelled wrong.
Not oil. Not ozone. Not blood.
Soap.
Cheap soap. Floral. The kind used to scrub away things you don't want people to ask about.
I stopped just inside the door, hand still on the latch, and listened.
Breathing.
Not panicked. Not steady either. Controlled, in the way people breathe when they're trying not to draw attention.
"Don't move," I said quietly.
A figure stiffened near the treatment bed.
Miriam Thorne straightened from where she'd been sitting, hands folded in her lap like a student waiting to be called on. She was dressed in faculty robes, hair pinned up neatly, glasses in place.
Too neat.
"You're early," she said.
"So are you," I replied.
I didn't approach. Didn't touch the wards. I watched her instead—her shoulders, the set of her jaw, the way her eyes flicked once toward the window and then away.
"Did something happen?" I asked.
She hesitated.
That was all the answer I needed.
I crossed the room in three steps and knelt in front of her, catching her wrist before she could pull away. The warmth surged instinctively—and slammed into resistance so sharp it made my teeth ache.
Not a curse.
A restraint.
I swore under my breath. "Who touched you?"
Her lips pressed together. "Theo—"
"Who," I repeated, quieter now.
She exhaled slowly, the way she did when she was bracing herself for a lecture. "A messenger came to my office this morning. Church courier. Polite. Apologetic. Said they wished to clarify certain… misunderstandings."
My stomach twisted.
"He asked me questions," she continued. "About my recovery. About your methods. About whether I felt pressured."
"And?" I asked.
"I answered honestly."
The warmth pushed harder, searching.
Found it.
Thin. Elegant. Buried deep.
A suppression lattice.
Designed not to harm.
Designed to limit.
"They marked you," I said.
Her eyes flicked up. "It's not dangerous. I checked."
"That's not the point."
"They didn't curse me," she said gently. "They bound you."
I stared at her.
"The lattice isn't anchored to my mana," she continued. "It's keyed to your signature. Any attempt you make to fully heal me will trip it. Trigger an inquiry. Possibly sanctions."
My chest tightened, hard and sudden.
"They used you as a lever," I said.
"Yes," she replied softly.
Anger came up fast—hot, ugly, reckless. I forced it down, breath by breath.
"When?" I asked.
"An hour ago," she said. "I came here immediately."
"Why didn't you tell Valentina?"
"I wanted you to see it first," she replied. "Because this isn't about politics anymore. It's about proximity."
I closed my eyes for a second.
This was what Calven had meant.
Isolation. Doubt. Reputation.
They couldn't touch me yet.
So they touched someone who trusted me.
I opened my eyes. "Does it hurt?"
"No," she said. "That's the clever part."
I nodded once. "Okay."
Her brows knit. "Okay?"
"Yes," I said. "Because this tells me exactly how far they're willing to go."
I stood and moved to the desk, flipping open the ledger with more force than necessary.
"You're not going to try to remove it?" she asked.
"Not yet," I replied. "They're watching for that."
She was quiet for a moment. Then, "Theo… I won't ask you to be careful."
I looked at her.
"But don't be alone with this," she finished.
"I won't," I said.
The wards chimed.
Lyra slipped inside like she owned the place, stopped short when she saw Miriam's face, and swore.
"Oh, that is rude," she said flatly.
"You feel it?" I asked.
She nodded, already circling Miriam, fingers hovering just shy of contact. "Yeah. Clean work. Church school. They used a compliance lattice—non-invasive, non-detectable unless you know what to look for."
Miriam gave a small smile. "She's very good."
"I know," I said.
Lyra's eyes sharpened. "You're thinking of poking it."
"No," I replied. "I'm thinking of baiting it."
Her grin came back, slow and feral. "That's worse."
"Probably," I agreed.
The door opened again.
Seraphina this time. No announcement. No knock. She took one look at Miriam and stopped.
"Who did this?" she asked.
"Church," Lyra said. "Indirect. Elegant. Cowardly."
Seraphina's expression went glacial.
"They think," she said slowly, "that if they make your allies radioactive, you'll retreat."
"They think wrong," I said.
She turned to Miriam. "Does it endanger you?"
"No," Miriam replied. "Only constrains him."
Seraphina's gaze snapped back to me. "Then it's unacceptable."
I almost smiled.
Almost.
"Here's what we do," I said. "We don't remove it. We display it."
Lyra blinked. "You want to show the lattice?"
"Yes."
"That'll expose Miriam to scrutiny," she warned.
Seraphina shook her head. "No. It exposes them."
I met her eyes. "Exactly."
Miriam inhaled slowly. "You're going to force them to admit they marked a faculty member."
"Yes," I said. "In public. During charter proceedings."
Silence fell.
Then Lyra laughed, bright and sharp. "Oh, I love it. That's not a knife. That's a guillotine."
Miriam closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again. "If you do this, they will escalate."
"I know," I said.
"They may come for students next," she added.
Seraphina's jaw tightened. "Then they will answer to my house."
"And the academy," I added.
"And me," Lyra said cheerfully.
The wards chimed again—this time harder.
Isolde stepped in, rain still clinging to her cloak, eyes immediately assessing the room.
"You felt it," I said.
She nodded. "A containment signal flared briefly near the clinic. Suppressed before it tripped alarms."
"They marked Miriam," I said.
Her jaw tightened. "I'll file an incident report."
"No," Valentina's voice said from the doorway.
She stood there, hands clasped behind her back, expression unreadable.
"Not yet," she continued. "If we file now, they deny. Delay. Bury it."
She looked at Miriam. "You're willing?"
Miriam met her gaze steadily. "Yes."
Valentina nodded once. "Then we proceed as planned."
Seraphina crossed her arms. "They chose their battleground."
Valentina's lips curved slightly. "And we'll meet them there."
The system chimed—quiet, ominous.
[Retaliation Confirmed]
[Ally Targeted]
[Public Exposure Opportunity Detected]
[Warning: Escalation Will End Soft Measures]
I looked around the room—at the professor who'd trusted me with her life, the noble who'd decided visibility was worth the risk, the curse witch who smiled at danger, the knight who stood like a wall, the headmistress who had been waiting for this moment longer than I had.
This wasn't about healing anymore.
It was about precedent.
"Good," I said softly. "Then let's teach them what happens when you bring knives to a room that listens."
Outside, thunder rolled—low, distant, promising.