The first envelope arrived with no return address and a casualty number written across the front.
Leah found it beneath the clinic door. Inside was a copy of a work assignment and a note asking whether the advocate who helped Garin’s family could find a missing casualty record. The sender had given a phone number but no name.
Tessa called. A woman answered and asked whether the clinic charged for an introduction to Nora.
“No,” Tessa said. “Nora can explain her own services and whether she can help. The clinic doesn’t handle claims.”
“Will we get the same payment as Rowan?”
“I can’t promise that. The policy and the evidence may be different.”
The woman was silent for a moment. “Everyone’s talking about the warehouse case. They make it sound as if all we need is the right advocate.”
“The right advocate can help you understand the claim. She can’t make a policy cover something it doesn’t cover.”
Tessa gave her Nora’s number and asked whether she wanted Nora to contact her instead. The woman chose to call herself. Leah placed the assignment copy in a separate envelope for return; the clinic did not need to keep it.
By noon, two more people had asked about records. One wanted a missing work contract. Another wanted a casualty list corrected before a family member applied for assistance. Nora could not take every case immediately, but she gave Tessa a list of other advocates and a schedule for a public information session.
Eli helped set out chairs for that session. He recognized the pressure building around the warehouse ruling. Rowan and Ivo had received their payment, and people who had waited months for records wanted to know why their own cases remained unresolved. A single order could become a rumor of an easy solution.
Aegis released a statement that afternoon. A printed copy appeared on the registry’s public board: the guild supported transparency, accurate casualty records, and cooperation with independent review. It did not mention the warehouse or Garin by name.
Sera read it twice. “They’re saying the right things.”
“Are they doing them?” Eli asked.
“We don’t know from this page.”
A man waiting near the board took a photograph. “If Aegis is opening its records, maybe they’ll find my brother’s contract.”
Eli almost told him not to trust the statement. The man was holding a worn folder with a name written on the front. He had not asked Eli for a verdict on Aegis; he wanted a record.
“Nora’s office is holding an information session,” Eli said. “They can help you identify what to request.”
The man took the address. “Will they make Aegis give it to me?”
“I don’t know. They can tell you what options you have.”
At the clinic, Leah showed Tessa a message that had been sent to the public contact number. It accused Eli’s group of profiting from the dead and claimed that the warehouse hearing had paid the team to keep quiet. The sender had not included a name.
The message was already being shared in a neighborhood group. Someone had added a photograph of the clinic wall before the graffiti was cleaned. Another person had attached a short clip from the meeting, beginning with the question about other abilities and ending with Eli’s pause.
“It leaves out his answer about living people,” Leah said.
“It leaves out a lot,” Eli replied.
He reached for his phone. Tessa stopped him with a hand on the table, not on his arm.
“What are you going to send?”
“The order. It says who gets the money.”
“It also contains family information. Rowan decides what can be shared.”
He put the phone down. “I’ll ask her.”
Rowan called before he could. A relative of another warehouse victim had asked whether the accusation applied to her case. Rowan had told the relative that the insurance money went to her and Ivo. She did not want the amount, account details, or Ivo’s name circulated.
“I can confirm the recipients in general terms,” she said. “You can say the benefit went to the beneficiaries named in the policy. Don’t post the order.”
“Do you want to make the statement yourself?” Tessa asked.
“No. I’m collecting Ivo from school and then meeting the funeral provider. I don’t want another day spent answering strangers.”
Eli thanked her. He could truthfully say the team had not taken the insurance payment. He could not use the hearing order as a public shield without exposing information Rowan had chosen to keep private. The question of the inheritance was separate and remained unanswered in the public account.
Sera documented where the message appeared and saved the visible versions. She noted that the original sender was anonymous. The neighborhood post had been shared by several accounts, but that did not identify its author.
“Could it be Aegis?” Eli asked.
“It could be someone who dislikes the clinic, someone repeating a rumor, or someone connected to a guild. I have a message and a set of shares. I don’t have the sender.”
“Can you trace it?”
“I can ask the group administrator to preserve the post. I can’t see private account information.”
Tessa drafted a short response: the hearing ordered the policy benefit to the named beneficiaries; the team did not receive the insurance payment; the family had asked that its financial details remain private. Nora checked the wording against the order and Rowan’s permission.
Ruth read the draft. “It doesn’t answer whether Eli gained an ability.”
“No,” Eli said.
“People will ask.”
“I know.”
“Are you going to answer?”
“I can say I don’t take abilities from living people. I can’t explain the other part without involving someone else’s private information, and I don’t understand all of it.”
Ruth looked at the sentence about the insurance payment. “Then don’t make this sound like it answers every accusation.”
Tessa changed the final line. The response would address the money only. It would not claim that every question about Eli’s powers had been resolved.
A woman arrived while they were preparing it. She carried a photograph of a young man in work clothes and asked whether the clinic could identify him from a piece of equipment recovered at a gate.
Eli examined the item with her permission. Gravekeeper showed no name. It identified remains, not an object merely handled by the dead. He explained the limit and returned the equipment.
“I thought the hearing meant you could find anyone,” she said.
“I wish it did.”
Tessa gave her the contact for the responder office that held the recovery record. The woman left with the photograph and the equipment, disappointed but not misled about what Eli could do.
That evening Nora’s information session filled the upstairs room. Ruth had to bring two chairs from the shop. A volunteer collected questions without names, but most people kept their papers in their hands. They had come to have a particular wrong put right.
Nora explained that her office could not take every case immediately. She would help identify the next request and arrange private appointments where she could. Before she finished, a woman near the front unfolded a release marked in red.
“Mine expires tomorrow,” she said. “Can you read this first?”
A young man beside the window stood. “My friend’s mother has been waiting four months. He died before Garin. Does she have to get an offer before anyone helps her?”
“No,” Nora said. “But a deadline may change what has to be done tonight. Has she authorized you to ask for her records?”
“She asked me to help. She doesn’t speak much English.”
“Then we’ll find out what authorization the office needs and whether she needs an interpreter. Don’t pass her documents around the room.”
He had already begun handing an envelope toward her. He drew it back. The woman with the release flattened her page against her knee and waited, watching him with an anger that had nowhere useful to go.
A man in the second row held up his phone. “Can you say that again? People need to hear what you’re offering.”
Eli saw the little image of the room on the screen. The woman’s marked page was visible beyond Nora’s shoulder. So was the name on the young man’s envelope.
“Are you recording?” Eli asked.
“Streaming. It’s a public session.”
Several heads turned. The woman pulled the release against her chest. The young man put the envelope inside his coat.
“You need to stop,” Eli said.
The man kept the phone raised. “You just posted that everything was private. Now there’s a meeting about the same case and nobody can watch it?”
“This is about their cases.” Eli moved between the lens and the front row. “You can film me saying that. You can’t show their papers.”
“You have permission to decide for the whole room?”
“No,” Nora said. “I asked people to bring private questions here. I didn’t tell them they’d be broadcast. Stop the stream or we’ll end the session.”
Ruth went to the door. She did not lock it or take the man’s phone. She held it open while he looked around for someone to object on his behalf.
“More things you won’t answer,” he said. He lowered the phone, tapped the screen and left. Eli could not tell whether he had deleted anything. Sera noted the account name visible on the screen and asked the two people whose papers had faced it to speak to her afterward. Neither wanted to leave the room to do it immediately.
Nora waited until Ruth closed the door. “I’m sorry. I should have stated that before we began. Does anyone want to leave or put away a document before we continue?”
No one moved at first. Then the woman folded her release and asked for a private appointment instead of reading it aloud. Nora checked her calendar. The only time before the deadline was early the next morning.
“I clean offices then,” the woman said.
“Can you speak by phone during a break?”
“Ten minutes. At six forty.”
Nora wrote the time on a card and handed it to her. The woman checked the number twice. It was a smaller offer than having the problem solved tonight, but it was one she could use.
The young man stayed after the next question to arrange an interpreter inquiry. He would ask his friend’s mother which relative she wanted involved before sending anything. Nora gave him the request office’s contact and a second advocate’s number; she had no appointment left that week.
Eli collected the question box. There were fewer papers in it than there had been raised hands. He could not know whether people had decided their questions were answered or had stopped trusting the room. Ruth put a sign beside the stairs for the next session: no recording of participants or documents. She asked the volunteer at the door to explain it before anyone entered.
After the session, the man with the worn folder approached Eli. “You said you couldn’t promise an answer. That was true. I found out where to ask, though.”
“Did you get the contact?”
“Yes.” He held up a card. “My brother’s name is on the folder. I’m going to make them spell it correctly before I ask about the money.” He smoothed the worn corner of the photograph with his thumb, then tucked it carefully back into the folder.
Eli offered to check the form for transcription errors. The man agreed, and together they found a missing letter in the name. The correction was small enough to fit in the margin. It might save the family another delay. The man copied the corrected spelling onto a second form, checked it carefully against the photograph, and gave Eli a tired nod before leaving the clinic.
Leah posted the agreed response after Rowan confirmed the wording. The neighborhood group administrator pinned it beneath the accusation but did not remove the original message. Several people argued in the comments. One asked why Eli had not explained his other ability; another thanked the clinic for the information session.
Eli read until Tessa took the phone from the table and turned it face down.
“You can answer questions tomorrow,” she said. “You can’t make the whole group agree tonight.”
He let the phone stay where it was. The room had emptied, leaving only the chairs and a stack of unused forms. Sera helped him fold the chairs while Ruth collected the anonymous questions. The work gave his hands something to do that did not involve refreshing the page.
A notification sounded from Sera’s phone. She read it, then looked up.
“National Tower selection,” she said. “They’ve announced the first date.”
Eli crossed the room. The announcement showed a registration window and a preliminary assessment date. He read the date twice. In the life he remembered, the selection had begun later. He tried to recall whether there had been an earlier preliminary event he had overlooked. No clear memory came.
“How early?” Tessa asked.
“Earlier than I expected.” He stopped himself. “Earlier than the schedule I remember. I don’t know why.”
Kellan came in carrying the repaired cart. He saw their faces and set it down. Sera showed him the announcement. He read the eligibility section first, then the deadline.
“Do we qualify?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet,” Eli said.
“Then that’s the first question.”
The Tower had offered resources and information in his other life, things independent hunters struggled to reach. It had also been surrounded by guild contracts, selection rules, and people willing to trade safety for access. The date on Sera’s screen made his old preparation calendar unreliable.
Leah collected the unused forms. “Whatever you decide, we still have patients tomorrow.”
“We know,” Tessa said.
Eli looked from the announcement to the clinic inventory pinned beside the door. The public accusation had not disappeared. Families still needed records. The clinic still needed supplies. Now an opportunity with a deadline had arrived before he was ready to say what it would cost.