Rowan had already worked out what one hundred and fifty pounds really meant.
Not in abstract numbers.
In groceries.
In rent.
In how long a family could breathe without panic.
For a household that had just emptied its savings to buy a home, losing that money had been crushing.
Getting it back felt unreal.
Chris was ecstatic.
She laughed, then cried, then hugged Rowan so tightly he squeaked in protest.
"My lucky little star," she whispered, kissing his cheeks again and again.
She didn't hesitate.
A carriage straight to the bank.
Every note deposited.
Only after the clerk stamped the receipt did her hands stop shaking.
Her first instinct was to run to City Hall and tell Jack.
Then she stopped herself.
He was working.
Interrupting him might cause trouble.
Better to wait until evening.
Her thoughts shifted.
"I'll visit my sister. It's been a while… and I should check on Meggose."
If she couldn't share the joy with her husband yet, she'd share it with family.
She bought a few small gifts and hired another carriage.
Rowan lay quietly in his crib, eyes closed.
Meggose.
The cousin who'd been tricked.
The cousin who was pregnant.
Rowan registered the information and returned to quietly stabilizing his internal control.
To anyone watching, he was just another sleeping baby.
They arrived near midday.
Chris's sister welcomed her with obvious relief.
She looked exhausted.
Her daughter refused to end the pregnancy.
No matter how much she begged.
No matter how bleak the situation looked.
She hoped Chris, as an aunt, might succeed where she had failed.
While the two women talked and prepared lunch, Rowan opened his eyes.
Meggose sat on the sofa.
Pale.
Thin.
Smiling faintly.
One hand resting on her belly.
Something about her felt wrong.
Not emotionally.
Not mentally.
Existentially.
Rowan didn't probe.
He didn't need to.
Her presence carried the same warped texture as the sailor who had lost control.
Only heavier.
Then Rowan sensed the fetus.
It wasn't human.
Not even close.
It radiated layered corruption.
Shadow.
Decay.
Twisted vitality.
A growing mass of hostile will.
Something was using her body as a vessel.
Rowan's conclusion formed instantly.
A god was attempting to enter the world through her.
Which meant the man who'd gotten her pregnant hadn't just been a scammer.
He'd been part of a cult.
Rowan closed his eyes again.
He had no intention of ignoring this.
If it was left alone, Meggose wouldn't be the only casualty.
The entire city could collapse.
But acting now would be reckless.
At present, Rowan could only express power that fit within this world's magical framework, even if his true foundation was far deeper.
He needed time.
Time to adapt more of his strength.
Time to learn this world's sealing methods.
Killing such an existence outright risked catastrophic consequences.
Sealing it was safer.
Cleaner.
And judging by the pregnancy's stage, whatever was forming still had months to go.
Enough time.
Outside Tingen, inside a quiet manor with a dying garden and soot-darkened chimney, a middle-aged man in a black clerical coat turned pages in a leather notebook.
Short entries.
Efficient.
Cold.
"Sealed artifact 2-049 has arrived in Tingen."
"Riel Bieber mutated."
"Night Watchers clashed with Mystic Order operatives."
"A mysterious infant killed a Mystic Order magician."
"The child is related to Meggose."
The man paused.
Annoying.
Not dangerous yet.
But inconvenient.
Inconveniences had a way of becoming fatal if ignored.
He picked up a feathered pen.
"Marcus, scheduled for transfer to Backlund, falls suddenly ill."
"The vacancy is reassigned to Jack Barton."
"The Barton family relocates within one week."
He set the pen down.
Problem solved.
His name was Adrian Crowe.
Once a senior figure within the Church of the Night.
Now a defector.
The pen beside him looked ordinary.
But anything written with it had a habit of becoming real.
Reality, once nudged, rarely noticed who had done the pushing.