Matteo was alone in the study of his house when he wrote the letter.
The room had been built for a man who trusted paper more than people. Tall shelves pressed against the walls, every one of them loaded with old research notes, sealed records, alchemical treatises, and legal volumes no sane person would read for pleasure. A private ward hummed beneath the floorboards, muffling the house from outside interference. Even the ink on his desk had been prepared by his own hand, because Matteo di Ravelle had always believed that if one wanted something done properly, relying on others was the first mistake.
The letter itself was short.
Only a few words.
Dura lex, sed lex.
Matteo stared at the sentence for a while after writing it.
The law is harsh, but it is the law.
