After secreting herself away in the basement gym, she brought out the locked book to inspect it in detail. Immediately, she noticed a detail: The twitching hand clasped an additional piece of anthracite-like stone, worked into the shape of a narrow rectangle.
When she took it out, Krahe still felt it giving off a faint, barely noticeable aura of anathema. Its surface was inscribed with two lines of writing, the stone’s glow illuminating it. It was a bit tricky to read due to the text’s tiny size and differences from what she had grown used to reading - it wasn’t clear print-type, but rather stylized calligraphy. Krahe assumed it was due to the age of these two items, but after getting a good look at the anthrocite slip, she managed to decipher it.
“For ye, who hath mastered the high magic: Burn this hand of mine to fuel thine ambitions.”
“It should suffice to complete my key, if you have not done so already.”
She was still suspicious of it, of course, and so she closed the book and locked it up again. The lock now obeyed as easily as her glasses. It would be a convenient little trinket in the future, especially once she put it on a more resilient box or at least had the book reinforced. For all its craftsmanship, the shielding inside the book was leaky. But then, perhaps it was by design, if whoever had put it where Sorayah found it wanted it to be found. For now, she tucked it away behind a rack of weight plates.
She spent a short time experimenting with Sorayah's Lantern, and learned that it rejected her - she could neither control nor appraise it. Thus, she placed it into her Kenoma Sack. The human charcoal still loaded in it made this a laborious process.
While she had the sack open, she retrieved a change of clothes - a darker, closer-fit pair of trousers, as well as the ice-user's jacket and a pair of gloves to conceal her arm. To finish, she swept her hair forward over her left shoulder such that it would hide the charred section of her face. It wasn't much, but it would be enough in a crowd. With that, Krahe made her way to the Zaveshian Central Temple. She wasn't entirely certain which church's jurisdiction the Lost Sun Killer fell under, since it was not only a severe form of body theft and desecration, but it also pertained to heretical magic, which was generally the purview of the Seven Spokes. In the end, however, the Twin Churches were called that for a reason. Their operations, faiths, and jurisdictions bled into one another in many places; they were effectively joined at the hip. Her decision was influenced, more than anything, by her status as a graft-apostle and the lower average number of people at Zaveshian temples. In reality, Zaveshian temples got more visitors than Igarian ones - many of the faithful were just out of sight, either being treated, having grafts done, or exercising as a form of worship.
Despite her hopes, the number of people milling about surpassed her expectations.
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There was a line of seven at the main counter, with a different banisher manning the counter than before. However, the same banisher receptionist Krahe had met when she first arrived was manning the counter to the right, with a warning sign that it was for urgent matters only and that one should not come there unless they had a bounty to turn in. While Krahe waited, she people-watched, though she didn't bring out Barzai lest someone somehow spot him.
Near the contract board, a group of five had gathered around that muscular contractor from before. She was even more muscular, apparently having had grafting work done going by the slightly swelled lines going down her arms and the noticeable increase in their size. She had an even bigger blade than before - a huge sabre with two cutouts on the back, wrapped to serve as extra grips. Its handle was excessively bulky... And contained a small engine. The guard was two-layered, with a solid piece guarding a motorbike throttle, while the handle itself had a brake-like lever. Two dark grey, barely-purplish lines of crystal ran down the blade on each side where the fuller grooves would normally go. Krahe didn't even need to try to listen in to learn what the weapon was - the contractor was currently in the process of loudly boasting about how she had paid some famous craftsman half a million to have it put together, despite providing all the materials herself. She claimed she now could cut through a building when transformed. Krahe didn't even doubt the veracity of that claim. If anything, she was thankful to the loudmouth for drawing all the attention.
Krahe committed the loudmouth and her weapon to memory, knowing full well that Casus would be terribly interested... And feeling somewhat bad for snapping at him earlier. Her reaction wasn't even extreme, but it felt like scolding a cat for killing mice. This was also a reason Krahe hated dealing with genuinely good people. It was much easier to justify her own prickly personality when everyone else was just as bad or worse.
The original receptionist recognized Krahe when she turned to glance that way, and called her over.
"Ah, I was wondering when I would see you again, Lady Blackhand," the receptionist said in a low, yet bubbly tone. "You might be disappointed to learn that we do not have another kidnapped Pilgrim for you to rescue..."
"He talked," Krahe deadpanned. She suddenly felt a bit less bad for snapping at him.
"Of course he did!" the receptionist beamed. "But he didn't need to. The Slaughterhouse Nine Incident left both witnesses and survivors... And people were more than eager to talk and ask questions about the commotion. I heard that one of the graftbeasts was even intact enough to pull a visual recording. Ah, apologies. What can I do for you today?"
Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Krahe moved on from the matter of her failure to keep a low profile. She had decided that it would be fine to get a reputation after all! But not every part of her had realized that yet. The paranoid schizo part that saw a camera on every corner and behind every civvie's eyes still wanted to be invisible.
"I have a case to report," she said. "There was no contract set beforehand, I uncovered it myself. It pertains to restricted material in the Temple of Records. Section fifty-three."
The receptionist sat still for a moment, thinking. Her cheerful demeanour fell away in an instant, and she regarded Krahe with a hard gaze, her eyes running up her arm before they met her own. Her third eye opened, its cruciform pupil burning in a pool of radiant green-blue.
"Are you absolutely certain?"
Krahe just nodded.
"Very well..." she trailed off, taking a piece of off-white, watermarked paper and writing on it by hand in immaculate calligraphy. "It so happens that an ex-inquisitor who worked on the case is present in the city, I will refer you to him. Go to the Seven Spokes Central Temple and ask for Razem."