Kieran's gaze froze on the place where the woman had disappeared, submerged in the sea of market smells and colors that suddenly felt piercing. The outside world shrank to a white hiss in his ears, filled only by the clanging of two names colliding in his head: Iris Valmont. Floor 89.

  From beside him, Mira exhaled a breath that trembled and broke. "That… was her, wasn't it?"

  That voice pulled Kieran back. The cold market air filled his lungs again, harsh and real. "[Perception Stabilizer: Immediate Sensory Recovery]," he murmured, a Tier 1.5 magic that was almost reflexive. The world returned to focus. The smell of salted fish, the sound of bargaining, the texture of cart wood against the back of his fingers. "Yes," his voice sounded flatter than he intended. "That was her."

  Exactly as I remember, his old sardonic voice muttered in his head, trying to bury something deeper and more painful beneath analysis. Hair slightly more disheveled, robe more frayed. Still in her independent research period, before Arcanum recruited her. Before everything became… complicated. He suppressed the memory, burying it beneath a stack of data: Iris is still an 'independent researcher'. Her status is fragile. That is information. That is an opportunity. Not a grave.

  "She looked… ordinary," whispered Mira, her eyes still searching the crowd. There was a faint color of wonder in her voice, mixed with the remnants of shock.

  "That is part of her greatness," said Kieran, beginning to walk again, pulling Mira gently from where they stood. "[Character Analysis: Historical Behavioral Pattern Observation] Tier 2.7. She doesn't care about appearance, only data. The bottles in her bag matter more than the brooch on her robe. That is what makes her dangerous. And valuable."

  They turned into a quieter alley, away from the main crowds. Kieran processed. Iris was here, at the market, buying materials. That meant her experiments were running, and she needed fresh supplies. It also meant she was not entirely dependent on Academy provisions which she might have been monitored through. A gap.

  "What do we do?" asked Mira, her steps following.

  "What we have already planned. Observe. Collect data. Rhen should already be back at the inn." His mind worked quickly, remapping the strategy. Iris's presence was not a disaster. It was an acceleration. But an acceleration like descending a hill with a cart whose wheels were already loose—one miscalculation and everything would fall apart. "We don't approach. Not directly. She is like… a curious forest cat. Approaching too quickly will only make her bolt, or scratch."

  Mira nodded, but her eyes were still distant. "I could feel it… a kind of vibration in the air around her. Not active magic, but… like a pencil mark on thick paper. Just used."

  "[Intellectual Mana Residue]," Kieran corrected. "A side effect of a mind that constantly manipulates magical variables at the conceptual level. You are beginning to differentiate it. That is good." The praise was automatic, teacher to student, while another part of his mind continued replaying the visual of Iris alive, breathing, and different.

  The journey back to the Eastern District felt shorter, Kieran's mind busy filtering every detail. They found Rhen at the inn, counting a pouch of copper and silver coins on his mattress with satisfaction.

  "Not bad," he said as they entered. "The people of Frostpeak apparently like calming tea. How did things go over there… good grief, your face looks like someone who has seen a ghost, Mira."

  "We saw her," said Kieran briefly, locking the door and activating [Sound Shield] again. The city sounds dimmed. "Iris Valmont. At the magical materials market."

  Rhen whistled softly, the coins forgotten. "That was quick. So, does the strategy change?"

  "It is refined," corrected Kieran, sitting on his mattress. The crystal container with the Starlight Bloom bud he placed on the floor. Its stem still bent rigidly toward the northeast, toward the Academy. "She hasn't approached us. That means our cover is still good enough, or she hasn't connected the dots yet. We maintain that. Rhen, tomorrow, spread word about your moonlace remedy at the market. But not too loudly. Let it be like… unintentional bait. Mira, we will continue mapping the city, avoid the academic area for now. We give her room to breathe, and see if she is the one who will approach."

  "And if she doesn't approach?" asked Mira.

  "Then we will create a situation in which she has to pay attention, without knowing that we are the ones orchestrating it." Kieran stared at the flower in the crystal. "[Symbiosis Analysis: Psycho-Spatial Interconnection] Tier 3." He sensed a faint connection between Mira's developing consciousness and the plant's curiosity. "But that is the last option. Direct interaction at this point is too risky. She…"

  He stopped. How to explain Iris Valmont? A pure logic system wrapped in flesh and blood, who could deconstruct a Tier 6 spell while forgetting to eat for two days. Who in the old timeline, laughed bitterly amid the rubble of Floor 89 because she had found 'mathematical elegance' in the soul-freezing ritual that had nearly killed them all. Her intelligence was a double-edged sword, cutting a path toward solutions while eroding the humanity of its wielder.

  "She cannot be predicted in ordinary ways," Kieran finally concluded, a statement that was grossly inadequate.

  That night, while Rhen snored softly and Mira tried to sleep restlessly, Kieran sat at the window. The city map was spread in his lap, bathed in pale moonlight. He was not drawing plans. He was composing probabilities. Every movement of Iris was a variable, every rumor in the market was a parameter. His mind, a war machine trained over centuries, ran simulations.

  Scenario A: Iris ignores the rumor about the remedy. Probability: 25%. She is too curious.Scenario B: Iris investigates the source of the remedy, finds Rhen. Probability: 40%. She will test, ask technical questions.Scenario C: Iris already suspects the anomaly in Ashvale and is connecting it to our presence. Probability: 20%. But if so, why not confront us?Scenario D:—

  He cut the line of thought. Too many variables. He needed more data. And data came with waiting. An action he disliked most.

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  The following day, they carried out the refined plan. Rhen went to the market with a small pouch of neatly packaged dried moonlace flowers, part of the 'personal stock' he was 'reluctant to sell.' Mira and Kieran explored the city's small temples and public archives, collecting folklore and local history that might hold clues about past magical activity. They deliberately avoided the academic district, providing psychological distance.

  The day rolled by with tension. Every step on the streets of Frostpeak felt like walking on thin glass. Kieran continuously maintained [Environmental Scan: Detection of Sustained Attention] Tier 3.5 at a low but constant level, sensing every gaze that lingered too long. Nothing suspicious. Only the busy life of the city.

  Until the afternoon.

  They were on their way back, carrying fresh bread and a small pot of goat's milk, when it happened. They were passing through a narrow intersection in the River District, where two alleys met at a right angle partially blocked by a merchant's pile of goods. Mira, who was mentally reviewing her shopping list, turned just as someone else appeared from that corner.

  The collision was not hard, but enough to knock the balance of both of them. A leather bag hanging from the woman's shoulder came loose, falling to the ground with a noisy sound—the clinking of glass and an eruption of sharp herbal aromas from crushed contents.

  "Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't see—" said Mira, jolting backward, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

  The woman—Iris Valmont—only grunted, more annoyed at the loss of her materials than at the collision itself. "It's fine, this corner is a poor design," she murmured, in a husky voice filled with other thoughts. She was already crouching, nimble hands opening the bag and examining the damage with the eyes of a chemist assessing a disaster. "Hmm. Whisperroot cracked. Silver moss extract leaked. But the reaction-reinforcing glass bottle is still intact. Not too bad."

  Then, as she raised her head to briefly look at the person who had collided with her, her eyes—sharp grayish-green—stopped. Not on Mira's face, but on her hand. Mira's right hand, extended instinctively to help, was open.

  On that palm, at the base of the ring finger, there was a patch of skin that was slightly reddened and had a different texture. Very faint, almost invisible. A scar? No. It was an imperfect micro mana circulation pattern, residue from repeated [Spatial Door] practice in the Ashvale warehouse. A 'magical callus' that could only be detected by someone who knew exactly what they were looking for.

  Iris froze. Her annoyance vanished, replaced by a sudden and peaked focus, like a lens locking onto a small distant object.

  Mira, sensing that change, drew her hand back quickly, hiding it behind her robe. "I… I am truly sorry," she said again, her voice rising slightly.

  "[Quick Analysis: Micro Dimensional Distortion Residue in Epidermal Tissue]," murmured Iris, more to herself than to Mira. Then she blinked, as if realizing she was speaking out loud. She stood, the disheveled bag hung back up. Her gaze was now full and direct, assessing. "You… are you all right? Not hurt?"

  "No, not at all," answered Mira too quickly.

  Iris nodded, slowly. Her eyes now shifted to Kieran, who stood one step behind Mira, his face deliberately emptied of expression, letting the aura of 'unremarkable herbalist assistant' envelop him. Iris's gaze swept over him, then returned to Mira. "You… are not from here. Ashvale accent, or thereabouts."

  "We are herbal merchants," said Kieran, stepping slightly forward, his voice flat and practical. "From the west. I apologize for my student's carelessness. We can replace the damaged materials." The offer was a barrier, as well as a distraction.

  Iris ignored the offer. "Early-stage spatial magic training," she said, coming straight to the point. Not a question. A statement. "But very unusual. The method… is different. Unlike any Academy curriculum I know. And the trace is on the dominant hand, not on the wrist as the catalytic focus. Interesting."

  Mira fell silent, the blood leaving her face. Kieran felt adrenaline hiss through his young body, while his old mind coldly evaluated the options. Deny? Dangerous. She was already certain. Admit? More dangerous.

  "My student has… a natural talent," said Kieran at last, maintaining eye contact. "Sometimes she experiments on her own. Something I do not recommend, of course." A lie seasoned with truth.

  Iris glanced at him again, and for the first time, Kieran saw something other than pure intellectual curiosity in her eyes: a flash of deep recognition, as though she were seeing a larger pattern. "Natural talent," she said, as if tasting those words. "Yes. I recognize that kind of talent." She was silent for a moment, then reached into the pocket of her robe. What she took out was not money, but a small card made of quality thick paper. She extended it toward Mira, not toward Kieran.

  "My name is Iris Valmont. Independent researcher, specialist in mana dynamics and spatial reality distortion." She spoke with a somewhat stiff formality, like reading from a paper. "Unusual talent… interests me. If you or your mentor," she glanced at Kieran, "ever have theoretical questions or need a second perspective on… experiments, you can find me. I am often at the Public Garden near the town hall in clear weather. To read."

  She gave the card, then, without waiting for a further response, gave a brief nod and turned, disappearing back into the alley with quick steps, her bag still softly rattling.

  Mira stood rooted to the spot, holding the name card as though it were a piece of burning coal. Kieran took it from her. The card was simple, inscribed with "Iris Valmont, Independent Researcher" and a general address in the academic district that was likely a post office. But in the lower corner, in nearly invisible ink, there was a small hand-drawn sketch—a simple geometric diagram depicting mana wave interference.

  "[Artifact Scan: Detection of Subtle Magic]," murmured Kieran, Tier 2. No traps, no trackers. Only a name card. A very open invitation, or a test.

  "She… she knows," whispered Mira, her voice trembling.

  "She suspects," corrected Kieran, his voice calm. He examined the diagram. It was a basic concept in spatial magic theory, something that would be understood by anyone with 'natural talent.' A lure. "She knows nothing. But her instincts are telling her there is something different about you. That is already enough to make her curious."

  "What do we do?"

  "We return to the inn," said Kieran, beginning to walk, his senses remaining alert to surveillance. "And we discuss this with Rhen."

  Not bad, his internal voice thought, while his feet stepped on the cobblestone streets. An unexpected collision. A brief interaction. She saw enough to be intrigued, but not enough to feel threatened. We are still in gray territory. Still manageable. But behind that cold analysis, there was an unease. Iris had seen Mira, not Kieran, as the point of interest. That could be an advantage—drawing suspicion away from him—or a danger, if Mira became the focus of her unwanted attention.

  When they arrived at the Straw Cushion Inn, dusk was beginning to fall, painting the sky with shades of orange and purple. Rhen was already waiting, and his face creased seeing their expressions.

  After Kieran activated [Sound Shield] and recounted what had happened, Rhen leaned against the wall, whistling softly. "So the genius now has our name card. Or more precisely, Mira's name card."

  "She sent a clear signal," said Kieran, placing the card on the rough wooden table. "She is interested in 'unusual talent.' She offered an exchange of information—'a second perspective.' She did not threaten, did not report us to the Academy authorities. That means she, at this point, sees us more as an interesting phenomenon than a threat. Or…"

  "Or she is waiting for us to make the first move, so she can measure us," Rhen finished.

  "Exactly."

  Mira stared at the name card. "She… was not what I imagined. More direct. A bit… awkward."

  "Her intelligence lies in theory and patterns, not social interaction," said Kieran. That was a truth he remembered well. Iris could dismantle the principles behind a dimensional portal, but could be clumsy ordering a drink at an inn. "That we can use to our advantage. Her emotions are more predictable because they are driven by logic and curiosity, not ambition or greed."

  "So, do we meet her? At the garden?" asked Rhen.