"Nyx."
She didn't kneel. Nyx didn't kneel for anyone. She crouched — one knee up, one knee down, the ready position of an operative who would participate in a ritual but refused to be defenseless while doing so.
The Mirage Weaving activated.
The effect was immediate and disorienting. The concert's energy — visible, palpable, producing light and vibration and environmental effects — vanished. Not suppressed. Hidden. Nyx's concealment didn't reduce the output. It made the output invisible. The five energies were still flowing, still harmonizing, still producing the chord that I could feel through Nihil's bond. But to any external observer — to the academy's monitoring systems, to the wards, to the Script itself —
Nothing was happening on Cloud Terrace Four.
Six energies. Synchronized. Concealed. The containment below was receiving a signal that the world above couldn't detect.
Six of seven.
"Mira."
