The Spire of Vellum doesn’t like surprises.
It was built to prevent them—stone ribs wrapped around archives, corridors measured to the inch, wardlines stitched into the mortar like quiet commandments. Nothing here moves without being noticed. Nothing arrives without being recorded. Even the light feels audited as it slips through narrow panes and lands exactly where it’s allowed.
I chose this place because I needed a structure that hated chaos as much as I do.
Today, it’s braced.
Not flaring. Not panicking. Just… attentive. The wards hum under the floor with that thin, controlled vibration that tells me the building has felt a hand hover over the wrong page in the ledger.
I stand at the high-seat window, hands folded behind my back, looking out over Leopard territory. The city below r
