The Facilitator in the doorway did not move to apprehend them. It simply stood, a silent, polished barrier. Its voice was a flat monotone. "Comply. The incident does not require escalation if you submit."
But Echo's Law-Sense, still buzzing from contact with the frayed edge of cosmic judgment, felt something else in the room. The law of Stasis was reasserting itself, but it was agitated, thick with a secondary imperative: Containment. The Galleries themselves were reacting.
"We don't fight," Echo said, his voice low and urgent in the Bond. "We leave. Now. The room is the enemy."
Leyla was the first to move. She didn't phase toward the door; she phased into the floor at their feet. Not to pass through, but to disrupt. Her Phantom Monarch ability to interact selectively with physical laws turned the polished stone beneath the Facilitator's feet momentarily into a frictionless, intangible mist. The Facilitator sank six inches with a whir of surprise, its balance compromised for a split second.
It was enough. Mira didn't try to open a portal—that would scream "spatial breach" to every monitor in the sector. Instead, she performed a spatial swap. The air two meters to the left of the Facilitator and the air just inside their alcove in the Memorate were, for a microsecond, the same place. She used an immense amount of focus to make the swap temporary and self-sealing.
"Through!" she hissed, sweat beading on her brow.
They lunged through the shimmering patch of air, tumbling onto the familiar grey stone of their Cloister alcove just as the swap reversed itself with a soft pop. Behind them, in Chamber Gamma-7, there was only empty air where they had been, and a slightly off-balance Facilitator.
They were safe. For now.
But the cost was immediate. Mira slumped against the wall, breathing hard. "They'll trace that. The energy signature... it's mine. Unique."
Ryn was already interfacing with the Cloister's ambient data-streams, her face grim. "Security alert is already propagating. 'Unauthorized spatial manipulation in Reconciliation Galleries. Signature linked to unregistered Spatial Archivist, associate of group under investigation.' We have been upgraded from 'observed' to 'persons of interest—detain for questioning.'"
Joram materialized from the shadows as if he'd been waiting. He looked at Mira's exhausted form, at their tense faces. "You triggered a containment protocol. And you escaped it. What did you find?"
Echo didn't bother with a full report. He gave the core truth. "It wasn't a murder or a kidnapping. It was a ruling. The debate reached a state of perfect, unresolvable contradiction. And something... a function of this place, or of what it's built on... judged it irrelevant and dismissed the participants from reality."
Joram went very still. The usual dry archivist vanished, replaced by a man who had just heard a confirmed nightmare. "The Oversight," he whispered, the word laden with a dread Echo had never heard from him. "I thought it was a myth. A failsafe of the Grand Design, meant to cull logic-loops and paradoxes that threaten systemic integrity. It's not controlled by the Authority. It's a law above laws."
He paced, a rare show of agitation. "You poked a scar left by the Oversight. And you used a Spatial Archivist's power to flee. You have drawn two very dangerous kinds of attention."
As if on cue, the air in the alcove chilled. A being appeared. It did not use the door. It coalesced from the ambient data-streams, forming out of numbers and hard light. It was humanoid, clad in robes of shifting grey static, with a face that was a smooth, blank oval. An Authority Inquisitor.
"Spatial Archivist designate Mira," it intoned, its voice the sound of grinding processors. "You are charged with Unauthorized Reality Manipulation in a Secure Nexus Zone. You will come with us for cognitive audit and power assessment."
It was not asking. It was stating fact.
Mira pushed herself upright, her jaw set. Going with them meant being taken apart, her abilities catalogued and likely suppressed. The Cloister offered no legal protection.
Echo stepped forward, placing himself between Mira and the Inquisitor. "She acted under my direction. As part of a Cloister-sanctioned investigation."
The Inquisitor's blank face shifted to regard him. "The Cloister has no sanctioning authority. Your group's investigative mandate is revoked. You are all to remain in your quarters pending full review. The Archivist comes now."
This was it. The Authority was done observing. It was acting.
But Joram spoke, his voice cutting through the tension. "Inquisitor. By Confluence Authority Code 889, Section 12: A Mentor of the Cloister may claim Tutorial Imperative for a Novitiate who has inadvertently breached protocol during a sanctioned training exercise, provided the exercise relates to a Veiled Report in the Memorate's active log." He held up the dark data-slate. "Report Gamma-7 is active. Their methods were... overzealous, but their mission was legitimate. The breach was a training error, not criminal intent."
The Inquisitor was silent for a long moment, accessing code. "Tutorial Imperative is rarely invoked. It requires the Mentor to accept full culpability and submit to oversight of all future training."
"I accept," Joram said without hesitation.
"Then the Archivist remains, under your direct supervision. The group's movements are restricted to the Cloister and its immediate annexed training zones for fifty cycles. A full report on your 'training exercise' and its dangerous conclusions is required within ten cycles. Failure to comply will result in immediate dissolution of the Cloister charter and permanent detainment of all involved."
The Inquisitor stared at Joram, its static robes humming. "You play a dangerous game, Archivist Joram. The Oversight is not a subject for Novitiates. Or for Meddlers." It dissolved back into data-streams, leaving the cold threat hanging in the air.
They were safe, but caged. And Joram had bet his entire position, possibly his freedom, on them.
He turned to them, his face weary. "Fifty cycles of house arrest. Use them. Write the report—tell the truth, but frame it as a theoretical exercise. And train. Not in subtlety. In survival. The Authority now sees you as a spark near tinder. And The Curator, who you crossed in the market, will have heard of this. You have made powerful enemies by uncovering an ancient truth."
He looked at Echo. "You wanted to learn the game. You have just been shown the price of losing. The next move is not a mission. It is to prepare for the storm you have summoned."
He left them in the alcove, under a new, heavier silence.
They had found the ghost. And in doing so, they had awakened something far worse: the judge.