Chapter 616: Chapter 616: Waiting on the Inside

Trafalgar spotted Selara outside, perched on a stone bench beside one of Aurevane’s narrower plazas.

The city hadn’t slowed since morning. Carriages rolled across the main road in polished lines, students drifted past in groups with assignment papers clutched in hand, and vendors had already deduced that Academy visitors were hungry, distracted, and easy to overcharge. A lucrative combination, if you happened to sell food near the event district.

Trafalgar returned to her carrying two folded crepes wrapped in thin paper. Chocolate bled from one edge, sliced strawberries piled inside with the confidence of a merchant who understood temptation rather better than pricing. He extended one to Selara, and she accepted it without her usual commentary.

"Thank you."

That alone was worrying.

Trafalgar lowered himself onto the bench beside her, keeping enough distance for appearances while unwrapping his own crepe. "It’s strange seeing you this unmotivated, Director."

Selara regarded the crepe in her hand as if it had offended her by being ordinary. "That’s a rude thing to say to the woman currently tolerating you as an assistant."

"You usually answer faster than that."

She vented a breath through her nose and finally bit into it. The chocolate and strawberries did their work, and her shoulders eased by a fraction.

Trafalgar studied the crowd instead of pressing immediately. "It’s the first day. We didn’t expect this to be simple from the start. And there’s always the chance he isn’t even here."

Selara chewed slowly, swallowed, and gave him a fatigued glance. "You aren’t wrong, which is deeply annoying."

"I’ll survive your disappointment."

"I’m sure you will. You have the face for it." She rapped the folded paper against her knee, smearing a faint streak of chocolate onto the wrapper. "I know we might find nothing. I know old fear can dress itself up as evidence. Matteo was right about that, even if saying it made me want to launch him into the refreshment table."

"That would’ve ruined Tom’s reputation on the first day."

"Tom deserves it."

"Tom is innocent."

"Tom is a fake assistant with poor naming instincts."

Trafalgar bit into his crepe. It was better than it had any right to be. "Fair."

Selara eased back against the bench and tracked a pair of young mana engineers hurrying past with document tubes tucked under their arms. "I expected something. A rumor. A name. A careless mistake. Anything. Aurevane is crawling with people who believe secrecy is a matter of using longer words. Usually one of them trips over their own cleverness by noon."

"And yet?"

"And yet everyone has been careful." Her voice thinned, irritation scraping through it. "Too careful. Bjorn knows nothing useful. Matteo knows enough to be afraid and too little to help. Lady di Nareth has buried every request beneath etiquette and safety wording. I hate safety wording. It always means someone wants the door shut."

Trafalgar wiped a line of chocolate from the edge of the wrapper. "Doors can be opened."

Selara angled her head toward him. "By us?"

"Not necessarily."

That gave her pause. Her expression honed itself, and the old Selara surfaced for half a breath. "The waiter?"

Trafalgar held his answer.

Selara clicked her tongue. "Don’t give me that face. I know about him. The man on the train. Gray hair, irritatingly polite, calls you young master, and somehow surfaces wherever things are about to grow complicated. A Morgain helper, I assume. Or a very committed admirer, which would be worse."

"He isn’t an admirer."

"Good to know. I would have questions."

Trafalgar creased his wrapper once and dropped his voice. "Since we’re both in this together, I’ll be transparent. He’s infiltrated the Atrium."

Selara stopped eating. Genuinely stopped, for once.

"What?"

"The Atrium," Trafalgar repeated. "He’s inside."

Selara lowered the crepe slowly. "That place is private enough that even I would have trouble entering without leaving a trail of furious letters behind me. I filed a formal request for lower-level access this morning, and even if they accept it, they’ll only show me what they want me to see. How did your man get in?"

"He has his methods."

"I hate that answer."

"It’s a good answer."

"It’s the answer people give when the real one involves crimes."

Trafalgar took another bite. "Probably."

Selara drove two fingers against the bridge of her nose. "Trafalgar."

"No one important has been harmed."

"That sentence doesn’t comfort me as much as you think."

"He’s careful. More careful than most people I know. If he needed a way inside, he found one without leaving noise behind."

Selara’s attention cut toward the flow of guards at the end of the plaza. "Aurevane claims to monitor everyone inside the city. Nearly thirty thousand registered guests, staff, guards, exhibitors, servants, students, and invited sponsors. They track who enters, who leaves, who receives clearance, who gets moved into private lodging. If a person disappears, alarms should rise."

"I suppose no one disappeared."

Her mouth tightened. "Don’t play cute with me."

"I’m not. I’m saying he wouldn’t leave something that obvious behind. He works better than that."

Selara weighed him for several breaths, anger and calculation wrestling behind her face. The calculation won, barely.

"How much does he know?"

"Enough to grasp why we’re here. Not everything, but enough."

"And you trust him with that?"

"Yes."

The answer arrived without hesitation, and Selara registered it. Her expression shifted again, a quieter adjustment this time.

"You trust very few people like that."

"I’m aware."

"That means he’s either very capable or very dangerous."

"Both."

Selara huffed, though the sound lacked any real amusement. "Of course. A Morgain solution."

Trafalgar lifted the last piece of crepe. "A working solution."

"That remains to be seen." She resumed eating, faster now, as though anger had reminded her she hadn’t had proper breakfast. "When will he report?"

"Tonight, if he finds something. He left a message this morning saying the Atrium looked like the area of interest. By the time I heard it, he was likely already inside."

Selara’s fingers tightened around the wrapper. "Tonight, then."

"That’s what I’m waiting for."

She finished her crepe and crumpled the paper with more force than was strictly required. "I hate waiting."

"I noticed."

"I especially hate waiting while dressed properly."

"That part sounds personal."

"It is. Formal clothing reduces my ability to throw things."

Trafalgar almost laughed, though he caged it behind his teeth. The plaza around them kept moving, bright and ordinary, while under all that glass and money Caelum was somewhere he should not be, wearing who knew what face, listening through doors that others believed were safe.

Selara rose from the bench. "Time to eat properly. We should head back to the hotel. The other students will be returning soon, and if I don’t appear before lunch, someone will assume I’ve either been kidnapped or started an experiment without supervision."

"Which one is more likely?"

"Depends who you ask."

They set off back through the plaza, slipping into the current of visitors flowing toward the lodging district. Trafalgar held his pace even, one hand near his coat pocket out of habit rather than need.

Halfway down the street, a faint pulse grazed his mana.

He halted. Selara took two strides before noticing and pivoting back. "What is it?"

Trafalgar’s hand closed around the Shadowlink Echo as it materialized in his palm, hotter than the device had any business being.