The Tower's lower dining hall served breakfast at dawn.
Spencer positioned himself at a corner table where he could observe the entrance without appearing to watch. His porridge sat cooling while Thread Sight processed the silver parade of Aes Sedai arriving for their morning meal.
Silver. Silver. Silver. Silver.
Each thread carried its own characteristics — Ajah affiliation visible in subtle color overtones, personality readable in thread texture, power level apparent in brightness. Spencer had spent three days learning to parse these differences, building tolerance through controlled exposure, pushing through headaches that would have left his old body bedridden.
Silver. Silver. Oily-black-under-silver.
Spencer's spoon stopped halfway to his mouth.
The sister who'd just entered was Green Ajah — confident bearing, the aggressive thread-texture characteristic of the Battle Ajah. Her name surfaced from meta-knowledge: Joiya Byir. Tall, dark-haired, moving with the predatory grace of a woman who'd bonded multiple Warders.
And beneath her silver surface, corruption pulsed like a second heartbeat.
[THREAT IDENTIFIED: Shadow corruption confirmed. Entity: Joiya Byir, Green Ajah. Status: Black Ajah (concealed). Note: Corruption pattern matches Liandrin template — deep-buried, long-established. This is a senior operative.]
Spencer forced himself to swallow his porridge. His hands didn't shake. His expression didn't change. But inside, the count was updating:
Two of thirteen. Liandrin and Joiya.
Eleven more hiding somewhere in these halls.
---
The Tower library occupied three floors of the eastern wing.
Spencer had legitimate reasons to be there — his cover as a "Talent subject" being studied by Brown scholars gave him access to the historical records they wanted him to review. He spent genuine hours reading accounts of unusual abilities, taking notes that might actually prove useful, building the appearance of a cooperative research subject.
But his real attention was on Thread Sight.
The library was quieter than the dining hall — fewer Aes Sedai, more novices and Accepted doing research under supervision. Spencer moved through the stacks with careful purpose, scanning every silver thread he encountered.
Silver. Silver. Silver.
He turned into a reading alcove and found a Yellow sister bent over an illuminated manuscript.
Her thread was wrong.
Not deep-wrong like Liandrin or Joiya — this corruption was shallow, recent, sitting close to the surface like a fresh wound that hadn't scarred over yet. Spencer recognized the pattern from his mental template: this was someone who'd been turned or recruited within the last few years, not a decades-long infiltrator.
[THREAT IDENTIFIED: Shadow corruption confirmed. Entity: Amico Nagoyin, Yellow Ajah. Status: Black Ajah (recent recruit). Note: Corruption shallow — turned within last 2-3 years. May be more vulnerable to exposure or less committed than long-term operatives.]
Amico looked up from her manuscript and smiled politely. "Can I help you?"
"Just browsing," Spencer said, keeping his voice casual. "The historical Talent accounts. Sister Verin suggested I review them."
"Ah, you're the young man with the unusual impressions. I've heard about you." Amico's smile was warm, genuine-seeming, touched with Yellow Ajah's characteristic interest in healing and wellness. "Let me know if you need anything."
"Thank you, Aes Sedai."
Spencer moved on, his heart hammering against his ribs. Three of thirteen. The count was rising, and every identification felt like placing a stone on a grave.
Liandrin. Joiya. Amico.
Ten more hiding in these walls.
---
The headache hit in the early afternoon.
Spencer had been scanning for six hours straight, pushing Thread Sight through the Tower's density, processing thread after thread in search of corruption. His ACU wasn't built for this — the system bible had been clear that comfortable Tower operation required stats he wouldn't reach for months or years.
He stumbled in a corridor, catching himself against the wall. The world tilted sideways, Thread Sight flickering in and out like a broken signal.
"Are you all right?"
An Accepted stood nearby, her white dress marking her status, concern evident on her young face. Spencer waved her off.
"Fine. Just tired."
"You don't look fine. I should report this to the Mistress of Novices—"
"Please don't." Spencer straightened, forcing steadiness into his limbs. "I'm a guest here. A research subject. I just... the Tower is overwhelming for someone from the countryside."
The Accepted looked unconvinced but nodded. "Rest would help. The Tower affects new arrivals strongly sometimes."
She moved on, but Spencer knew the interaction wouldn't end there. Accepted reported to Sheriam. Sheriam maintained networks throughout the Tower — and Sheriam, if his meta-knowledge was correct, was Black Ajah herself.
My stumble will be noted. Filed. Remembered.
The "sickly young man with the unusual Talent" is becoming a pattern.
Spencer found a quiet alcove in the library's deepest section and let himself collapse into a chair. His head pounded with each heartbeat, Thread Sight reduced to a painful blur. He'd pushed too hard, too fast, and now he was paying the price.
But I have three names. Three confirmed Black Ajah, with ten more to find.
It's a start.
---
That evening, Spencer wrote in his journal.
The cipher was personal — a combination of shorthand and symbol substitution that would look like meaningless scratches to anyone who found it. But to Spencer, each mark was a name:
L.G. — Red. Senior. Deep corruption. J.B. — Green. Senior. Battle-trained. A.N. — Yellow. Recent. Shallow corruption.
Three names. Ten blanks. And the weight of each identification sat in Spencer's chest like stones.
These weren't abstractions anymore. These were women he'd seen, women who'd smiled at him, women who walked the Tower's halls dispensing justice and healing and education while serving the Shadow's purposes. Every one of them was a knife waiting to strike at the Light.
And I'm the only one who can see the blades.
The responsibility was crushing. In his old life, Spencer had worked with systems — databases, networks, architecture. Problems with solutions that could be tested and verified. This was different. This was a puzzle where wrong answers got people killed.
But if I don't do this, who will? Verin's been trying for seventy years and she still can't expose the list she's compiled. Moiraine suspects but can't prove. Siuan knows the Black Ajah exists but can't identify individuals.
I can.
The Pattern didn't give me this ability by accident. Even if I'm still not sure whether the Wheel wants me to succeed or fail.
---
A note arrived as Spencer was preparing for bed.
The paper was quality — Brown Ajah standard issue — and the handwriting was Verin's careful academic script:
Tea tomorrow afternoon. I've discovered some fascinating research on historical Talents that I believe will interest you greatly. Please join me in my quarters at the fourth hour past noon.
P.S. — I recommend a light lunch. The discussion may be... involved.
Spencer lifted the note to his nose. Beneath the ink and paper, a faint herbal scent lingered — something he recognized from his meta-knowledge as a truth-telling agent. Not strong enough to compel honesty, but sufficient to lower inhibitions, make lies more difficult to construct.
Verin is testing me again. More directly this time.
She wants to know if I'll react to the scent. If I recognize what she's doing.
Spencer smiled despite his headache. The Brown sister was accelerating her assessment, moving from cautious observation to active evaluation. That meant she was closer to deciding whether Spencer was worth the risk of deeper alliance.
Tomorrow I walk into a room with a woman who's spent seventy years lying to everyone, and I have to be honest enough to earn her trust without being so honest that I expose secrets that would get me killed.
This is going to be the most dangerous tea party of my life.
He set the note aside and lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Somewhere below, in the Tower's countless rooms and corridors, thirteen Black Ajah sisters went about their business. Three of them now had names in Spencer's journal. Ten remained unknown.
The hunt was beginning.
And the hunters were being hunted in return.
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