"Invoke Armaments, serial batch 4821-A," Rhys said grimly. "Registered six months ago under private testing clearance. The same company that supplies your academy's defense tools."

Elara's eyes flicked toward Merlin before she could stop herself.

He didn't move. Didn't blink.

Morgana leaned back slightly. "You seem unsurprised."

Merlin forced his tone calm. "I've… heard of Invoke. They're a large-scale supplier. It isn't odd they'd produce weapon components for the academy."

Rhys' gaze sharpened. "Except this batch isn't registered in any of our official catalogs. The shipment was redirected from their main foundry before reaching distribution, then vanished."

"Vanished?" Elara repeated softly.

"Completely," Morgana confirmed. "No transport record. No financial trace. The paperwork stops mid-transfer. Someone scrubbed the trail clean."

Merlin's fingers curled faintly against his leg.

He had seen this before, in the novel. Invoke's secret military branch, the one Adrian had buried behind shell companies and black-market contracts. A small group that worked with the Obsidian Veil to exchange technology for experimental materials.

He remembered the chapter vividly, the protagonist never discovered their true purpose until too late.

But this world wasn't following that script anymore.

Rhys's voice pulled him back. "We're looking into everyone with access to the foundry. Internal leaks, smugglers, subcontracted artificers, but if someone inside Invoke is collaborating with a criminal network, this could extend beyond the academy."

Morgana's gaze flicked from Elara to Merlin. "You both were closest to the incident site. I need you to tell me everything you remember, from the moment the gauntlet activated."

Merlin and Elara exchanged a glance.

Elara spoke first. "The gauntlet's wielder didn't seem to understand what he was using. The energy flow was unstable, artificial. When it overloaded, the fragments dispersed before the mana surge collapsed."

Merlin nodded slightly. "There was also a delay before the implosion, about three seconds. Like something tried to stabilize it before the rupture."

Rhys looked thoughtful. "So, a failsafe. Automatic shutoff."

"Or remote detonation," Merlin said quietly.

The room went still.

Morgana's eyes narrowed. "You're suggesting someone triggered the explosion deliberately."

"I'm saying it's possible," Merlin said. "The energy patterns weren't natural. It felt… guided. Whoever was behind this didn't want the weapon recovered intact."

Silence.

Rhys and Morgana exchanged a brief glance, the kind that carried weight.

Finally, Morgana stood. The light from the window caught the silver streak in her dark hair, the faint gleam of power that never truly faded from her aura.

"Both of you," she said, her voice calm but edged. "Do not speak of this to anyone else. Not the other students, not even your instructors. Until we confirm who's responsible, we can't risk panic spreading through the academy."

"Yes, Headmistress," Elara said immediately.

Merlin inclined his head as well, though his thoughts burned.

She watched him longer than was comfortable. "You've dealt with dangerous information before, Merlin Everhart," she said finally. "I trust you know how to carry it."

His golden eyes met hers. "Always."

For a brief second, Morgana's lips curved faintly, not a smile, exactly, but acknowledgment. Then she turned away, signaling the meeting was over.

Rhys gathered the crystal documents and left with a curt nod, leaving only the faint scent of ozone behind.

When the door shut, Morgana's voice softened. "Merlin."

He stopped halfway to the exit. "Yes?"

Her crimson gaze held his. "Be careful where you tread. Power and knowledge attract attention, and not all attention comes from above."

He hesitated. "Understood."

Outside, the sunlight had shifted from gray to pale gold, filtering through the courtyard trees. Students moved in groups toward the training fields, laughing and talking as if nothing had happened.

Elara walked beside him, silent for a long time before speaking.

"You're not telling me something."

Merlin's steps slowed. "…What makes you think that?"

"Because I've known you long enough to know when you're lying." Her tone was calm but unwavering. "You didn't react at allwhen Invoke's name came up. That wasn't surprise, it was recognition."

He didn't answer.

She stepped in front of him, blocking his path, violet eyes searching his face. "What aren't you saying?"

Merlin met her gaze, then sighed softly, running a hand through his hair. "Invoke and I… have history."

Elara blinked. "History?"

"I made an investment with them a while ago," he admitted. "Before I entered the academy. It was small at the time, or at least I thought it would be. I didn't realize how large they'd become."

Her expression tightened. "And you didn't think to mention that?"

"I didn't think it mattered," he said. "I bought shares, not weapons. It's not like they send me reports about criminal deals."

Elara crossed her arms. "Still, this means you're connected to them. Morgana and Rhys—"

"Can't know," Merlin cut in, voice low. "If they find out, they'll think I had something to do with the attack."

Elara hesitated. "…Do you?"

He looked at her sharply, but she held his gaze, not accusing, just searching.

"No," he said finally. "But if the Obsidian Veil got their hands on Invoke's prototypes, that means someone on that board is working with them. And I need to find out who."

Elara frowned. "You plan on investigating Invoke?"

"I have to," Merlin said simply. "If I don't, someone else will, and they won't be as subtle."

She stared at him for a long moment, then exhaled. "You're going to get yourself killed one day, you know that?"

"Probably," he said with a faint smile. "But not today."

That earned the smallest shake of her head, though the corner of her mouth curved just slightly. "You really are impossible."

He grinned, and for a moment, the heaviness between them eased.

But as they walked back toward the dorms, Merlin's thoughts wouldn't settle.

Invoke.

The Veil.

And now Morgana watching him like she could see the strings before he did.

It was too connected, too deliberate.

And in the back of his mind, an old line from the novel whispered again, faint as an echo in the dark:

"When power and intent intertwine, history doesn't repeat, it remembers."

He wasn't sure if the story was still following the book he knew.

But one thing was certain, whatever came next wasn't written anymore.