“Mission control here,” Aeniki says. “No active theta signal. No ongoing electricity or water usage. I’ve no view of the interior, though. So if there’s a Grandmaster who kills you all, don’t blame me.”

“Gold Leader here,” says First Sergeant Revi, Gold Team leader, standing a step behind me, “we’re ready by the door. Are the ways out covered?”

“Blue Leader here,” Kaelich says. “I took position on the roof of building C. Direct sightline to all external windows, save one. I don’t see anyone inside, but blinds are down in room 2.”

“Blue Drone here,” Sorivel adds, “I’ve every window in sight, plus drones by the main staircase.”

“Gold Leader here,” Revi repeats, “we’re ready to go. Beginning countdown.”

“I’ll open the door,” Althea says. She smiles, a bit too enthusiastic. Her eyes are already glowing green, and her fingers are turning to glass.

She and I joined Team Gold’s leader and Blademaster for the actual raid. Since Za Ruik is ‘temporarily not fit for field operations’ Jaeleri joined us, too, for all the good he’ll do.

“Three,” Sergeant Revi bergins the count, and I take a deep breath.

“Two.” There’s no real reason to worry, the apartment is most likely empty. If it isn’t, Korentis is a slimy asshole, but not a warrior. And in truth, if there are mages inside, Revi and Khor will skewer them before I can blink.

“One.” Green light coalesces around Althea, small cubes of Else-Glass combining to form something like a blocky, translucent armor around her body.

“Go!” the Sergeant commands.

Althea punches forward, and two meters in front of her, the apartment’s door snaps open with the groaning noise of deforming metal.

“Hallway, clear,” First Sergeant Ravi says, as we walk inside - fast but not quite running. Blademaster Khor, so large he barely fits through the door, walks before me. I try to mirror his practiced stance as she walks, holding his sword in a downward diagonal guard. Not the textbook position, but it works better in a cramped space.

Small rotor-drones zip above us, spreading in the three rooms - they’re Sorivel’s drones, since team Gold’s drone controller favors huge, heavy combat machines.

“Blue Drone here,” Sorivel announces, “room one, two and three clear. No target in visual, IR and theta spectra.”

I relax, but also feel a stab of frustration. It was very unlikely that Korentis would stay in the apartment after being discovered, but I had hoped xe’d waste enough time for us to catch xem. Aeniki found a likely match for xem and xir friends leaving the closest tube station less than fifteen minutes ago.

“Don’t lower your guard yet,” Ravi commands. “The kid’s a Liar. Let’s carefully inspect every room before calling it safe for Investigations.”

“No magic activity in the Else, ma’am” Althea says. “Unless xe’s really good at hiding, xe’s not here anymore. But there’s some residual magic, I think.”

“Let’s physically inspect every room first, that’s the best way to be sure,” the Sergeant says, and I’d hug her for behaving like a professional.

We go through two small bedrooms and a living room. They were clearly abandoned in a hurry, leaving back clothes, paper textbooks, even a half-eaten bowl of seasoned rice - on a mat on the floor, the Landfaller way.

Send - Sorivel: have your drones tour the apartment and record everything. I don’t trust CivInt to do a proper job.

Sorivel: You never trust anyone to do a proper job. But in this specific case, you happen to be right.

Finally, we search the bathroom, and there’s no mage hiding in a closet here, either. I relax, despite a tinge of disappointment.

“Lost Stars, this is creepy,” Althea says, rifling through some loose papers on a desk in the two-bed room.

“Careful dear, that’s evidence,” the Sergeant warns.

“I’m not touching anything,” Althea says - she’s technically right, the sheets of paper are floating in front of her.

They’re pen sketches on sheets of the cheap, rough paper some students use to take notes. Mostly to be pretentious.

They’re doodles, if skilled ones - abstract patterns, spirals, roses. Why is Althea so fascinated? Then I realize they’re not just random forms - they’re figures. Faces, hands, open books, half-moons, repeated with slight differences.

I recognize a face - Korentis, in a quick but quite lifelike sketch. Spiraling lines radiate in a rose from it, each one bending until it becomes a new sketch of a different face. One of the endpoints is definitely Tharvais.

I shiver.

“Is this for some spell? Or xe just likes being creepy?” I ask.

“No idea,” Althea says. “These aren’t magical anchors, and there’s no magical residue. But I don’t know the first thing about Lies.”

“They’re preparation for the Lie, but not in a magical sense,” Jaeleri says. He looks at the drawings, fascinated. “I think it’s like… rehearsal.”

“Definitely evidence,” the sargeant snaps, “so stop touching or levitating them, ok? Althea, Jaeleri, try to summon the past. We already have Korentis’ magical signature, but there were three people here. Also, find out what the residual magical activity is.”

“I can summon a signature roughly half an hour after they used significant magic, I think we’re late for that,” Althea says, scrunching her nose adorably, “but I can try. I think we already know Korentis’ roomate, though - that ugly rug on the wall is a Kalestran tapestry, so it’s xir Kalestran friend, Daravoi. I’ll focus on looking for the third mage’s signature. The one posing as a photographer.”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“She made the wards, she’s a Mind-mage and Maker, I think,” Jaeleri adds, as if lost in thought - it’s strange to hear him offer his input without being questioned. “But then who is the fourth mage?”

“Fourth?” Althea asks.

Everyone looks at Jaeleri, and his face changes, like someone who’s eating fried grasshoppers and realizes he bit a living one.

“Hm, maybe I was wrong,” he mumbles. “I got confused by Althea’s magic. She’s loud.”

“Check carefully,” the Sergeant says, turning toward Jaeleri. “Is there a fourth magical trace, or not?”

Jaeleri looks like he’s going to mumble something else, but the First Sergeant keeps staring at him, and he shuts up.

“Look, I’m mostly a theoretical mage,” he says, but Khor coughs and steps near him - he’s about three times larger than Jaeleri, and is good at looming. Jaeleri must have some sense of self-preservation, because he doesn’t try to claim he has no legal obligation to count to four.

“Well, take your time, and check carefully. It will go in the report,” Ravi says, her tone kind, but firm.

Jaeleri’s expression drips poison - he really hates doing his job - but he closes his eyes and draws a sequence of glyphs in midair. They’re much smaller and more angular than Althea’s.

“Korentis used magic most recently,” he says, unenthusiastic. “There, near the door.”

Jaeleri waves his hand, and a ghostly figure of red light forms by the broken door - someone of slight build, still wearing a bulky jacket. Mage Korentis. Just by looking at xem, my blood boils.

“What was xe doing?” The Sergeant asks.

“How should I know? Magic, I guess,” Jaeleri says, resentful. “Anyway, there’s leftover activity from wards on the wall. They were broken or dismissed very recently. They’re efficient and expertly drawn - the work of someone with serious training, and probably the Path of Making. So, I guess that’s the photographer.”

He waves again, and broken outlines of magical glyphs form on the walls.

Sorivel, team channel: Wait, this is pretty useful. So, when Jaeleri claims he can’t do anything, he’s just bullshitting us?

I realize that yes, Jaeleri is doing a pretty good job. Which we always assumed he couldn’t do.

Cerical, team channel: maybe this is easier than finding Korentis’ signature in the jewelry. I’ll ask Althea. If Jaeleri downplayed his abilities so much, we should have a chat.

I took Jaeleri’s uselessness as a given. Everyone did - even if that doesn’t justify my sloppiness. But is he just weak and lazy, or something worse?

Can I trust anyone in this sorry excuse for a ThauCon base?

“The fourth magical trace is specifically on the mirror,” Jaeleri explains. “A different person. Not the one who made the wards, and not Daravoi, either. Whoever it was, I think they’re powerful. Adept-level at least.”

“Can you get their signature?” the Sergeant asks.

Three people lived in this apartment, clearly. Aeniki found visual proof of ‘Tharvais’ associating with two people - the supposed fellow student, who is Daravoi, and the photographer. So…who was the fourth mage?

Maybe someone who trained the three young mages? Or someone who employs them. Korentis was living in the tube a month ago, and now xe has an expensive, high-quality fake ID.

“There’s something strange,” Jaeleri says. “I’m not sure…”

“Do your best, dear,” Ravi orders, annoyance plain in her voice.

“I’ll try,” he says, and shuffles to the mirror. A thin, wispy aura of red light surrounds him. He draws a circle of glyphs in midair, and they turn slowly, like a wheel.

“I don’t recognize the spell,” he says, sounding intrigued. “It’s a strange kind of… fuck!”

White lightning erupts from the mirror, arcing toward Jaeleri’s glyphs. The glyphs shatter like glass, and the mage is thrown on the floor. More lightning explodes from the mirror, and alarms pop in my vision

LEVEL 3 THETA PEAK

Jaeleri screams - the lightning seems to go through him, pinning him to the ground. He raises a hand, but no light glows on his fingers. The thin red glow surrounding him burns away like mist in the sun.

I raise my sword, running to the mirror, but Althea is faster. She flicks her wrist, a diamond-shaped fragment of green light flies toward the mirror, shattering it in one thousand pieces. A split second later, there’s a crack of gunfire, and the broken mirror gets riddled with bullets from Ravi’s rifle.

The lightning is over, and the alarm fades from my HUD. Jaeleri is still on the floor, shaking.

“Go check on him, you fucking idiots!” Aeniki yells. She’s so angry and commanding that I obey out of instinct - I rush to the mage on the ground, reaching him a split second before Khor does.

There’s a scorch mark on the chest of his red-black tunic - not good. But he’s sitting up, with a grimace.

“Are you ok?” I ask, reluctant. He’s obviously going to live, after all. “Did you get the magical signature?”

“I’m not fucking ok!” He says, looking at me, so angry I’m grateful for the silver in the suit. His voice squeaks for a moment, and I see his hands shake - he might be a better mage than he pretends to, but at least he’s really a coward. “I told you something was wrong with that trace! Next time, you can have it checked by your… by Althea.”

He glares at her, still protected by the green else-glass armor.

“You’re welcome,” she says, deadpan. “I broke the mirror and probably saved your life. No need to thank me.”

“Are you hurt, Jaeleri?” Ravi asks - narrow questions. That’s the best way to deal with him, I should remember it.

He touches his chest, winces, but shakes his head.

“Not seriously,” he says, as if he were disappointed by not finding a bleeding, gaping wound. “The magical attack didn’t go through my defenses. The fall hurt more.”

“What kind of spell was that?” Althea asks, frowning.

For a moment Jaeleri’s face sours, as if he was going to spew some of his usual bullshit, but then he shrugs.

“Fold-mine,” he grumbles.

By his side, Ravi nods, looking thoughtful.

“I concur,” she says. “It’s a trap, powered by magic stored in a bubble in the Else. Only a Fold-Mage of considerable skill can make one. Someone trained by the Hidden Schools, the Faceless Army or the like.”

“There was some other spell bound to the mirror,” Jaeleri says. He’s grimacing, either out of pain for falling on the floor, or because he hates giving explanations. “The Fold-Mine wasn’t meant to kill. Most of it went into scrambling the local Else. I think the mage left the mine to prevent anyone from getting their signature. Probably also worked as a trip-wire. They know we triggered it.”

“Can you still get the signature?” I press the issue again.

Jaeleri throws up his hands. “Of course not, that was the whole fucking point.”

“Mission Control, can you extract a signature from the theta event?” the Sergeant asks.

“The signal is very scrambled,” Aeniki answers, angry. “Which, as mage Jaeleri pointed out, was the whole point, so why do you even ask?”

“Well,” the Sergeant says, sounding lost in thought, “a pity Za is indisposed today, he’d glance at the mirror and tell us who made the mine, who they work for, and what’s their favorite pair of shoes. But you did the best you could, kids. Are there other magical traces? If not, let’s do a last round and then call CivInt.”