The guild representative arrived with a folder, a clean coat, and a sympathy card he placed on the clinic table before introducing himself.
“My name is Adrian Pell,” he said. “I work with the investigations office at Meridian Recovery.”
Eli recognized the company name. In his previous life, Meridian had bought the crystal recovered from the small gate. That did not tell him why its investigator wanted Tessa’s medical records now. He stood beside the supply shelves while Tessa invited Pell to sit.
The clinic was between patients. Marisol had gone to wash her hands; Leah was checking the supplier’s delivery against the invoice. Mrs. Ortega’s sewing machine hummed upstairs. The ordinary sounds made the folder seem less threatening, though Eli knew a form could travel farther than a conversation.
Pell opened the folder and produced a single sheet. “First, I’m sorry for your loss. We are reviewing unusual injuries and markings associated with the building incident. Your father was among the people identified by the responders.”
“What mark?” Tessa asked.
“A patterned discoloration on his forearm. We would like to establish when it appeared.”
“Do you have a photograph?”
“Not with me.”
“Who found it?”
“The examination team. I’m not authorized to identify individual staff without their permission.”
Tessa held out her hand for the sheet. Pell gave it to her along with a pen. She placed the pen on the table and began reading.
The top paragraph authorized an interview about Darius’s movements and health. The next allowed the guild to obtain and share relevant documents for the purpose of its investigation. A footnote defined relevant documents broadly enough to include Tessa’s own medical records, past and future, and permitted disclosure to contractors working for the guild.
She read that section twice.
“Why do you need my medical history?”
Pell folded his hands. “There may be a hereditary component. We haven’t ruled anything out.”
“You haven’t explained what the mark is.”
“That’s why we’re investigating.”
“Then tell me what part of my records could help identify a mark on my father’s arm.”
“I don’t have the medical expertise to narrow the request. Broad authorization avoids delays if the reviewing team needs additional information.”
Tessa placed the form flat between them. “This authorizes access to everything. It also allows you to share it with contractors I haven’t met.”
“Only for the investigation.”
“That phrase is defined by your office.”
Pell did not deny it. “You can withdraw consent later.”
“After copies have been made?”
“I can’t speak for every recipient’s retention policy.”
Leah stopped sorting the delivery. Eli saw her glance toward the clinic’s notice about confidentiality, then return to the invoice without leaving the room.
Pell touched the sympathy card. “Our intention is to help families understand what happened. A delay could mean evidence is lost.”
“What evidence?” Tessa asked.
“Records, recollections, physical changes. In these incidents, we don’t always know what will prove relevant.”
Eli wanted to tell her to send him away. The mark might be connected to Darius’s ability, the system, or nothing at all. In his first life, guild investigators had described almost any question as urgent when they wanted an answer before someone could seek advice. But he had no proof that Pell intended harm, and Tessa had already made clear that she would decide whom to speak to.
“The form lets contractors keep copies of records unrelated to the mark,” he said. “That seems broader than the inquiry.”
Tessa looked at him. “That’s why I haven’t signed it.”
“You could ask for the interview and records permissions to be separated.”
Pell’s eyes moved to Eli. “And you are?”
“Eli Voss. I helped at the building.”
“I see.” Pell took a card from the folder and set it beside the sympathy card. “You were also on the expedition yesterday.”
The information was not necessarily private. The registry had recorded their names. Still, Eli felt the familiar pressure of someone assembling separate pieces of his life into a file.
Tessa slid the form back toward herself before Pell could reach for it. “I’d like a copy.”
“Of course. Once you’ve signed—”
“Before I sign.”
He hesitated. “I only brought the original.”
“I can photograph it.”
Pell’s expression remained pleasant. “It’s a standard form.”
“Then you won’t mind me keeping a copy.”
He sat back. Tessa took photographs of both sides, including the small print and the blank signature line. She checked that each image was readable before returning the page to the table.
“I’ll speak to you about my father’s movements,” she said. “I won’t authorize access to my records.”
“The interview and records review are part of the same investigation.”
“They don’t have to be on the same permission.”
“I can’t alter the form here.”
“Then bring one that separates them.”
Pell looked at the clock above the door. “I can take notes today without a signature, if you prefer.”
“What happens to those notes?”
“They become part of our case file.”
“Who can read it?”
“Our investigators and relevant specialists.”
“Can I see what you write?”
“I can summarize it for you.”
“Can I have a copy?”
“I would need approval.”
“Can you ask for that approval?”
Pell’s fingers moved against the folder. “Yes.”
“Then ask. And send me the limited interview terms in writing.”
He took back the unsigned form. “You’re free to refuse. I should tell you that families who cooperate generally receive answers sooner.”
“That sounds like an assurance,” Tessa said. “Will you put it in writing?”
“I can’t guarantee a result.”
“Then don’t imply one.”
For the first time Pell’s practiced expression slipped. It returned almost immediately. He put the form in the folder and stood.
“I’ll contact my office. Would tomorrow afternoon suit you?”
“Send the terms first. I’ll decide after I read them.”
He gave her a small nod and left. The door shut behind him with a click.
Eli followed him to the window. Pell crossed the street, paused to make a call, and walked out of sight. Eli could not hear the conversation.
“He asked for more information than he could explain,” he said.
Tessa gathered the card and placed it beside the phone. “I noticed.”
“Would it be safer to send him written questions instead of meeting?”
“He hasn’t explained why he needs them. That’s enough reason not to sign the form. It isn’t enough to tell me I can’t ask about my father.”
“He may know about the ability.”
“Then I want to know what he knows.”
“And if he wants to use it against you?”
She turned toward him. “What does that mean?”
Eli had meant the possibility broadly: guilds used information as leverage, and a family member could be pressured to influence a hunter. But Tessa was right to ask whether he knew something specific.
“I don’t know that he intends to. I know guilds collect information and don’t always explain how they’ll use it.” He reached toward her notes as if to choose which questions she should send, then pulled his hand back. “Sorry. You decide what to ask.”
“Which guilds? From what experience?”
He hesitated. The same gap opened between them that had opened over the map. Tessa noticed it immediately.
“You keep warning me about things you won’t explain,” she said. “I can take the warning seriously without giving you the decision.”
Leah came over with the invoice. “The order matches. Should I put it away?”
“Yes,” Tessa said, then glanced toward the shelves. “Before we open again, we need a rule. If anyone asks about a patient, we don’t give them information because they mention my father or a guild investigation. Bring the request to me or Marisol.”
Leah nodded. “What if they say it’s urgent?”
“Ask who they are, what they need, and how to reach them. If there’s an immediate medical emergency, call the responders. Otherwise, don’t hand over names or records.”
Marisol returned from the washing station and listened to the end of the instruction. “I’ll tell the afternoon volunteers. Do you want me at the interview?”
“I haven’t agreed to one yet.”
“If you do, I can sit with you.”
Tessa smiled briefly. “Thank you.”
Eli helped Leah put the delivery away, checking each item against the invoice. The smaller order filled only part of the shelf. There were enough dressings for the scheduled wound checks, but the clinic would need another purchase before the end of the week if demand continued. Leah wrote the actual delivery in the ledger and crossed out the tentative quantity beside it.
Pell called an hour later. Tessa took the call at the table where the others could hear her side of it.
“Yes, I received your email,” she said. “I’m reading it now.”
Eli watched her scroll. She asked whether the interview would be recorded, whether she could stop it at any time, and whether she could receive a copy of the notes. Pell apparently agreed to the first two points but would not promise the third. Tessa asked him to send the revised wording.
“And a witness?” she said. Her expression tightened. “Why not?”
She listened, then wrote something on the back of the supplier’s envelope.
“You can object. I’m recording that you objected. If we meet, I will have someone with me.”
The conversation continued for another minute. Tessa asked Pell to identify the office responsible for the mark and to bring a photograph if his office permitted it. She did not agree to discuss her own medical history. When she ended the call, she showed Marisol the note.
“He says a medical witness could make it feel like an examination rather than a conversation,” Tessa said. “He says his office prefers one family member and one investigator.”
Marisol read the note. “Does he object to any witness or to me specifically?”
“Any witness. He’ll allow one support person if they don’t answer for me.”
“That’s reasonable enough as a limit on answering,” Marisol said. “The objection before it is worth keeping.”
Tessa added the time and Pell’s name to the note. “Can you cover the clinic tomorrow afternoon if I meet him?”
“I can cover the scheduled appointments. I can’t stay late.”
“I’ll make sure the meeting ends in time.”
Eli looked at the email on Tessa’s phone. “I’ll come.”
She held it back. “If I ask you to.”
He stepped away from the table. “Right.”
“I may want you there because he already knows you helped at the building. But the meeting is about my father. I don’t want you turning it into an investigation of your ability.”
“I won’t ask about it unless you want me to.”
“And if he asks you?”
“I’ll listen to the terms before answering.”
Tessa considered him. “You can come as my support person. You don’t speak for me. If I end the meeting, you leave with me.”
“I agree.”
She forwarded the email to herself and printed it at the shop’s small printer. The page specified a limited interview about Darius’s movements during the building incident. It did not grant access to Tessa’s medical records. It also said the investigator could record answers in a case file and that the guild would decide whether to share notes later.
Tessa wrote questions in the margin: Who found the mark? When? Photograph? Why family records? Who receives notes? She printed her photographs of the unsigned original form and put those pages behind the interview terms in a folder. Keeping it would not prove what Pell intended, but it would preserve what he had asked her to authorize.
Eli watched her close the folder. He wanted the answers as much as she did, perhaps for different reasons. If Darius’s mark had appeared before his death, it might tell him something about the ability he had inherited. If it had appeared afterward, it might tell him something else entirely. The possibilities multiplied faster than the evidence.
Before the appointment, Leah asked where the copy of the original form should go. Tessa gave her a separate envelope and labeled it with Pell’s name and the date. She did not put it among the patients’ files. If the guild later described the authorization differently, she wanted to be able to find the exact wording it had offered.
Tessa picked up the sympathy card. Inside, the printed message offered the guild’s condolences. Pell had signed only his first name.
She placed it on a shelf, away from the patient records, and opened the clinic door for the next appointment.