Midnight oil burned low in Adelinde’s lamp, casting weak light across scattered papers and ravenglass specimens.

  She squinted through her magnifying lens, ignoring the ache behind her eyes as she traced another pattern of corruption through a shard.

  “The spread follows the same resonance paths,” she muttered, adding another notation to her already cramped diagrams. “But the rate of progression varies between specimens. Why? What’s the variable I’m missing?”

  Reference texts lay open around her workstation, their pages marked with countless strips of parchment. She’d been cross-referencing ancient accounts for hours, searching for any mention of similar corruption patterns. Her neck protested as she straightened, but she ignored the discomfort.

  The quiet scratch of her quill filled the laboratory, punctuated by the occasional clink of specimens being sorted and catalogued. The familiar sounds usually soothed her, but tonight they felt hollow, insufficient to fill the void that had opened in her chest.

  A soft knock interrupted her concentration. Master Sigmund stood in the doorway.

  “My lady? It’s well past midnight.”

  “I’m aware of the time.” She didn’t look up from her work. “The corruption’s spread rate increases during nighttime hours. I need to document the progression.”

  He moved closer, studying the chaos of her workstation. “When did you last eat? Or sleep?”

  “I had…” She frowned, trying to remember. “There was tea. Earlier.”

  “Yesterday’s tea doesn’t count as sustenance.” Sigmund picked up one of her diagrams, examining the intricate patterns she’d sketched. “This can wait until morning.”

  “It can’t.” She snatched the paper back, adding it to a pile of similar observations. “The corruption’s accelerating. Look—” She held up a specimen in its protective container. “See how the veins pulse? They’re stronger now than they were six hours ago. If I don’t track the progression, we’ll miss crucial data points.”

  “Adelinde.” He spoke her name softly, the way he had when she was a young apprentice struggling with difficult translations. “You’ve received terrible news. No one expects you to—”

  “To what? To continue my work? To solve the mystery that might be destroying our Kingdom’s foundations?” She gestured at her specimens. “The corruption doesn’t stop spreading just because my father is dead.”

  The words came out harder than she intended.

  “Your sisters—”

  “Have their own concerns.” She turned back to her notes. “Irmin has her investigation. Elana has her political manoeuvring. I have this.”

  “And what do you have for yourself?” He settled onto a stool beside her workbench. “Where is your space to grieve?”

  “I don’t have time for grief.” The words emerged clipped, precise. “The corruption is spreading through our ravenglass reserves at an exponential rate. The bond network shows increasing instability. If we don’t understand the mechanism soon—”

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  “The mechanism will still be there tomorrow.” He laid a gentle hand on her arm. “Tell me what you’ve found so far. Help me understand why this can’t wait.”

  She recognised the technique—he’d used it countless times during her training, getting her to step back and explain her thought process. Part of her bristled at being handled like an overwrought student.

  “The corruption follows existing resonance pathways. It’s not random degradation—it’s using our own bond network to spread. Like a disease travelling through a bloodstream.”

  “Interesting.” He picked up one of her reference texts. “And these ancient accounts you’ve been studying?”

  “They hint at similar events in the past. But the relevant passages are damaged, deliberately obscured.” Frustration crept into her voice. “Someone tried to erase this knowledge. They knew this could happen, and they chose to hide the warning signs.”

  “So the answers exist, but finding them requires careful study. Cross-referencing. Time to think.” He smiled. “The sort of work that benefits from a clear mind and rested body.”

  “I am thinking clearly.” But even as she spoke, her vision blurred slightly. She blinked hard, refocusing on her notes.

  “Are you?” Gisela’s voice came from the doorway, where the golden wyvern had been quietly observing. “Your thoughts grow sluggish. Your observations, less precise.”

  “Not you too.” Adelinde glared at her companion. “I thought you understood the urgency.”

  “I understand that exhaustion leads to errors.” The wyvern moved closer, her presence filling the cramped laboratory. “Errors we cannot afford.”

  “Listen to your bond partner,” Sigmund said. “The answers you seek will come more easily when you’ve rested. When you’ve given yourself space to process all that’s happened.”

  “I don’t want space.” The admission surprised her with its rawness. “I don’t want to process. I want to work. To solve this before…” She swallowed hard. “Before anyone else dies.”

  “Oh, my dear.” Sigmund’s voice carried compassion. “Your father’s death wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have prevented it, even if you’d solved this mystery months ago.”

  “You don’t know that.” She stared at her specimens, their corrupted surfaces seeming to pulse in the dim light. “If I’d pushed harder, made them listen about the anomalies I was tracking—”

  “Then events might have played out exactly the same way.” He began gathering her papers. “The path to understanding isn’t always straight or swift. Sometimes we must step away to see the whole pattern.”

  “The whole pattern is right here.” She gestured at her work. “I just need more time. More focus. If I sleep now, I’ll lose momentum.”

  “If you don’t sleep now, you’ll lose accuracy,” Gisela said. “Already your calculations show signs of fatigue. Three errors in the last hour alone.”

  Adelinde startled. “What errors?”

  “The resonance frequency calculations on page seven.” The wyvern’s tail indicated a specific sheet. “You transposed two digits. And your specimen categorisation is becoming inconsistent.”

  She snatched up the indicated pages, scanning her work. Her heart sank as she spotted the mistakes—obvious ones that she should have caught.

  “Your work matters,” Sigmund said. “But it matters enough to do properly. With full attention and clear focus.”

  Adelinde slumped, the weight of exhaustion finally pressing down. “A few hours. But I need to check the specimens again before dawn. The nighttime progression—”

  “Will be carefully monitored by Klara.” Sigmund began dimming the alchemical lamps. “I’ll have her record any significant changes.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” Gisela’s wing brushed her shoulder. “Sleep now. Solve mysteries later.”

  Adelinde sighed, recognising the futility of arguing with both her mentor and her wyvern. She allowed Sigmund to help her organise her notes, marking specific pages for morning reference.

  “The answers will still be here tomorrow,” he said, steering her towards the door. “And you’ll be better equipped to find them.”

  She paused in the doorway, looking back at her workstation. The corrupted specimens seemed to pulse in the darkness, their whispers just below the threshold of hearing.

  Waiting. Growing. Spreading.

  But Gisela was right—she couldn’t afford errors. Not with stakes this high.

  “A few hours. Just until dawn.”

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