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You fold your arms and approach the woman as Alvis lets the door fall shut behind you. "Who are you?" you ask, scrutinizing her face. "What are you doing here?"

The woman blinks several times. "Research," she says at last. Her voice is hoarse, like she's unused to speaking. "This is a library."

There aren't many books aside from the Book of Prophecy itself in this room in particular, though a few rolls of parchment line a shelf along the nearby wall. "This is an interesting room to have chosen," you point out. "And how did you get in?"

"You can call me Meredith," the woman says, which doesn't answer that question and only barely answers an earlier one.

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"Jun," Alvis says, meeting your eyes, "does the Demonsight Stone have anything interesting to say about our new friend Meredith? I'm sure she's not a student, but I'd very much like to know if she's a mage."

After a confused moment, you remember you forgot to mention what happened to the Stone when you were telling Alvis what happened in Archa earlier. "Oh," you say. "Um. I don't have it."

Alvis blinks at you. "You…didn't bring it? You wore it in front of the whole world at the ceremony three years ago, and you didn't wear it today?"

"I didn't leave it behind," you protest. "It was stolen. Someone took it from my house. From a…from a locked room that they shouldn't have been able to enter, specifically."

You and Alvis turn in unison to Meredith, who is bent over the Book of Prophecy again. Her hair is shading her face like a curtain. You aren't even sure if she knows you're looking at her.

"Not stealing," Meredith murmurs, face nearly pressed against the Book. "Not from the Royal Arcane Academy and not from you."

Before you can ask any more questions, Meredith holds a single page straight up in the air, contemplating. Then she pulls, viciously, clearly trying to rip it from the Book.

Alvis stifles a cry of dismay, though it must be mostly involuntary—the Book of Prophecy was enchanted to be indestructible. Nothing can harm it: the world's accurate prophecies are preserved in it forever.

Not for lack of trying on Meredith's part, though. When pulling pages doesn't work, she lifts the Book from the pedestal and tries to tear it in two, then slams it back down and resorts to scratching at it with her fingernails.

"You know that won't work," you offer. It's more perplexing than concerning.

"I believe that's enough of that," Alvis says, wincing. "She's obviously trespassing. We need to get the chancellors. Mardas will be in the basement."

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