Mortressa's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Marlowe. I don't recognize the bloodline."

The question beneath the question. If Mortressa was asking like that, Theresa knew she couldn't lie — not directly. A lie would surface eventually, and surface badly. But she didn't have to offer the truth either. She just had to avoid the lie.

"There is no bloodline. He's from the other world. One of the summoned."

A pause stretched between them. Then:

"The summoned are under the Seat of Radiance's direct oversight. All of them." Mortressa's voice had gone very soft — the kind of soft that preceded judgment. "Every summoning ritual is documented, every otherworlder is registered, every assignment is approved through proper channels." She let the words settle like stones into still water. "Are you telling me, Sister, that you have been conducting operations involving a summoned otherworlder without reporting to the central authority?"

'Careful. Careful now.'

"I am telling you," Theresa said, "that a heretic emerged from the summoning batch — as occasionally happens — and I dealt with it locally. As is my right and responsibility as Cardinal of this diocese."

"Dealt with it." Mortressa's tone remained pleasant. Almost conversational. "By sending three Crusaders and an Inquisitor after a single F-rank."

"The target was misclassified."

"Clearly." Mortressa set down her water glass with a soft click — a sound that seemed too loud in the quiet room. "Here is what I think happened, Sister. I think you found something. Something in this Cade Marlowe that you didn't want the Seat of Radiance to know about. Something valuable enough to justify pulling the Thorn Sisters from their sacred duty. Something important enough to risk an Inquisitor."

Theresa said nothing. Her expression remained mild, attentive, appropriately concerned—the face of a colleague receiving difficult feedback.

"I think you wanted to capture him quietly. Interrogate him. Extract whatever secret he's carrying. And then, perhaps, present your findings to the Seat as a fait accompli — a problem identified and solved entirely through your own initiative. A demonstration of competence." Mortressa smiled. "A reminder of your value."

'Closer than I'd like. But still not close enough.'

"You give me too much credit," Theresa said. "I'm a simple administrator. I saw a threat. I responded. The response was... inadequate. I accept responsibility for that failure."

"Do you?" Mortressa rose from her chair with fluid grace, and Theresa felt the shift in the room — the interview becoming something else. An assertion. "Then you won't object to my taking over the operation. My Inquisitor will lead the hunt from here. My people will conduct the investigation. And when Cade Marlowe is found, he will be transported directly to the Seat of Radiance for questioning."

Theresa's hands remained perfectly still in her lap. She could feel her heartbeat in her throat, steady and measured despite everything.

'No. That cannot happen.'

If Mortressa's people captured Cade — if they questioned him under truth compulsion — everything would unravel. The unauthorized summoning. The experiments. The coming coup. The deals she had made to keep it all hidden.

Everything she had built. Everything she had sacrificed for. Gone.

"Of course," Theresa said, and her smile didn't waver. "I welcome your assistance, Your Eminence. The resources of this diocese are entirely at your disposal."

Mortressa studied her for a long moment, something unreadable moving behind her eyes. Then, slowly, she smiled back — a mirror of Theresa's own expression, equally false, equally knowing.

"I thought you might say that. You've always known when to fold, Theresa. It's one of your better qualities."

She moved toward the door, then paused with her hand on the frame. The gesture was casual. The timing was not.

"One more thing. What was the report of the last sister? She must have seen something of his summon. It couldn't be that... right?"

Something cold settled in Theresa's stomach.

"She was rambling. Disorganized mental state. Trauma from the encounter." Theresa kept her voice even, dismissive. "And no — that's too far-fetched."

"Hmm." Mortressa's gaze held hers, searching. "There are reports about this place. Some recent ones speak about the persecution of a young lady in order to send a message." Her head tilted slightly — a predator's gesture, assessing. "What message, I wonder? And to whom? Also, what did the Church do to this particular otherworlder that made him burn hundreds of people in response?"

'She knows. Not everything — but enough to know I'm hiding something.'

"Heretics say many things," Theresa said. "Most of it is meaningless."

"Most of it." Mortressa nodded slowly. "But not all of it. That's the trouble with heretics, isn't it? Sometimes, buried in all that blasphemy, there's a grain of truth. A truth someone would very much prefer stayed buried."

She left without waiting for a response.

Theresa sat motionless in her chair, listening to the footsteps fade down the corridor. The scarred Paladin. The female Inquisitor. Mortressa herself, gliding away with all the grace of a serpent that had just spotted prey.

Only when the footsteps had disappeared entirely — when even the echo had died — did Theresa allow her composure to crack.

Her hands trembled. Just slightly. Just for a moment.

'She's going to find out. It might not be today or tomorrow. But eventually she's going to pull at the threads until everything comes apart. And it's all because of that mongrel.'

She stood, agitation driving her to her feet. Her hand moved toward the table, fingers curling — she wanted to flip it, to feel something shatter, to give shape to the fury clawing at her chest. But she caught herself mid-motion, suddenly aware that Mortressa might still be within earshot. Listening for exactly this kind of weakness.

She wouldn't give the Cardinal that satisfaction.

Theresa closed her eyes and drew a long, steadying breath. Then another.

She had built something here. Something the Church needed, even if they didn't know it yet. The otherworlders were her key — her path to finally removing herself from the vicious cycle of humiliation and dependence, to standing independent at last.

It had all been coming together. Brutus had been tied down with Lira's death and the guild massacre. She had the young girl, too, and the conditioning was proceeding on schedule. The Speed King would come into her hand in due time, and everything needed to control the Imperial blood was already in place.

And then this mongrel — this insignificant F-rank from another world — had made noise. Too much noise.

How does someone that weak kill the Thorn Sisters? How does an F-rank damage an Inquisitor like that — not just any Inquisitor, but the White Lion himself?

'He should have been easy to capture. An F-rank with a mortal-tier summon. What is he?'

She didn't know. But she knew what he had become: the thorn that had grown out of nowhere and was now tearing apart everything she had carefully constructed.

She needed answers. She needed Cade Marlowe alive and in her custody — not Mortressa's. And she needed to find out who in her own diocese was feeding information to the Seat of Radiance.

Theresa opened her eyes.

Her smile returned — but it was a different smile now. It was the smile of a woman who had been playing political games since before Mortressa was ordained, and who had no intention of losing this one.

'You think you've cornered me, Sister. You think I'll simply roll over and let you take what I've built.'

She rose and moved to the window, looking down at the courtyard where Mortressa's entourage was being settled into guest quarters. The scarred Paladin was directing servants. The Inquisitor stood apart, watchful, her dark armor drinking the afternoon light.

'You have no idea what you've walked into.'

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