## Chapter 1 — Friday the Thirteenth The warehouse seal opened at 08:13. Ace looked at the time. Then at the heavy door withdrawing into the concrete wall. “Subtle.” Mai stood beside her with one hand resting near the secured document case at her hip. “It is the thirteenth.” “I noticed.” “You looked offended.” “I am offended by scheduled symbolism.” Shammy stood behind them, silver-white hair moving faintly in air the warehouse ventilation insisted was still. “The building feels satisfied.” Ace looked up at her. “That makes it worse.” The underground storage facility belonged to no company visible from the street. Its exterior record claimed municipal archival overflow. Its internal systems belonged to someone who expected governments, corporations and armed professionals to ask questions eventually and had built every answer around making the next question legally expensive. Rogue’s kind of place. The Oathwood Panel waited in the center of the primary loading bay. It no longer stood upright. The custom cradle held it at the shallow natural curve Jessie had recovered from the pre-installation scans and staged release data. Broad padded supports followed the wood rather than forcing the wood to follow them. Every load value remained visible on an isolated mechanical display. No green status indicators. No automated balancing. No definition of normal that could be quietly revised when reality became inconvenient. The dark timber looked smaller outside Vesper House. Less ceremonial. Less like an object capable of making a room full of wealthy people destroy their own social lives. It was still almost three meters across. Ace walked around the cradle. The carved lines became visible as her angle changed. Not letters. Not exactly images. Marks made for people who already understood where to stand when they spoke. She stopped near the repaired transport support. “No new movement?” The condition specialist shook her head. “Nothing outside predicted travel variation.” “Predicted by whom?” “Your technical consultant.” Ace’s mouth curved. “Good answer.” Mai checked the custody record. “Environmental continuity?” “Within the approved range.” “Raw values?” “Preserved from warehouse intake onward.” “No recalibration?” “No recalibration.” “Acoustic monitoring?” “External only. No recording inside the storage room.” Shammy approached the panel. The condition specialist looked toward her. Most people did. Shammy was difficult not to notice even when she was dressed for practical work rather than appearing publicly as Sera. At one hundred and ninety-five centimeters, with silver-white hair and charged blue eyes, she made industrial spaces look temporarily undersized. The warehouse had enough clearance. It still felt as though it had not expected weather to walk inside. Shammy stopped beside the cradle without touching it. Her hair lifted near one shoulder. The air pressure changed by less than anything the building could measure usefully. Ace waited. Mai stopped reading. The transport crew did the same without being told. Shammy looked at the Oathwood Panel. “It is quieter.” Ace glanced at the load display. “Physically?” “No.” “Emotionally?” Shammy considered. “No.” Ace waited. Shammy found the correct word. “Socially.” The transport lead looked at the panel. Then at Shammy. He wisely did not ask. Mai closed the custody file. “It has not been placed near anyone required to make declarations.” “No,” the condition specialist said. “Rogue’s instruction was explicit.” Ace folded her arms. “Rogue has many explicit instructions.” “This one was repeated.” “Then she was worried.” Mai looked at Ace. “Rogue repeats instructions when she expects someone to interpret them creatively.” Ace stared at her. “That sounded personal.” “It was historically supported.” Shammy’s hair moved with quiet amusement. The transport lead brought up the route. Bywater House did not appear by name. The destination field contained a set of turn instructions, a temporary access credential and a location marker that would activate only after the vehicle crossed into the correct district. Ace looked at the blank final section. “I hate his directions.” “They have worked every other time,” Mai said. “They work after pretending not to.” “That still qualifies.” “Technically.” Mai’s silver-blue eyes moved toward her. Ace sighed. “Yes. I heard it.” The physical transport belonged to Rogue’s trusted crew. The delivery did not. That distinction was absolute. The crew had collected the panel from Vesper House, moved it into secure storage and maintained the cradle until the correct date arrived. Today, the Triad assumed custody. All three of them. Not because the Collector required ceremonial witnesses. Not because the panel needed three handlers. Because Collector artifacts entered Bywater House through the Triad. Ace, Mai and Shammy had accepted the job together. They delivered together. The chain did not become optional because one member had another relationship, another task, another place she might otherwise have chosen to be. The Triad was not a scheduling convenience. It was the structure. Mai signed first. **MAI — OPERATIONAL AND FINANCIAL CUSTODY** Ace pressed her thumb beneath it. **ACE — PHYSICAL SECURITY AND DELIVERY AUTHORITY** Shammy placed one finger against the final field. The scanner hesitated. Her biology and the scanner had disagreed before. This time the device accepted the contact after a brief flicker. **SHAMATERAZU — ENVIRONMENTAL AND ANOMALOUS CONDITION AUTHORITY** Ace read the completed record. “Still strange seeing that written down.” Shammy looked at her. “My name?” “Authority.” Mai secured the document. “Both are accurate.” The transport lead transferred control of the route and vehicle locks to the Triad. He and the condition specialist would remain with the panel through physical unloading. Two additional crew members followed in the support vehicle. They were not escorting the Triad. They were moving the object under Triad authority. The difference mattered enough that Rogue had written it into the custody chain. Ace climbed into the climate-controlled carrier first. The interior had three human seats along the forward wall. Two had been manufactured for ordinary bodies. The third had been modified so Shammy could sit without folding herself into a geometry likely to make the safety restraints seek legal representation. Ace examined it. “Rogue remembered.” Mai secured the document case. “Rogue’s people measured after the last delivery.” Shammy sat. The seat accepted her height with visible relief. “The belt is longer.” Ace fastened her own restraint. “Historic progress.” Mai sat between them. The Oathwood Panel rested behind a transparent environmental partition. No decorative lighting. No public presentation. No audience. Old wood in a careful cradle. The loading door sealed. At 08:31, the vehicle began moving. --- Rain covered Night City in grey layers. Not a storm. Not even particularly heavy. The kind of steady weather that made towers disappear by degree and turned every road surface into a reflection of something more expensive above it. The transport carrier moved through freight routes without drawing attention. No corporate convoy. No visible weapons platform. No dramatic escort. A restoration vehicle taking old material somewhere private. Which was true. Ace watched the city through the narrow side window. Her hair was black again. Short, blade-cut and faintly violet where the cold exterior light caught it. The blonde had finally surrendered after several days, professional removal and one argument with Lena that Ace had technically not won. Mai’s copper-red cover color had also disappeared. Her silver hair rested against the dark collar of her coat, tied back loosely enough that a few strands moved when the vehicle changed speed. No Amber. No Maeve. No Sera. No audience required them. Shammy sat with one hand resting against the side of her seat. Not asleep. Listening. Mai reviewed the final delivery conditions. “Collector accepts the transport cradle as temporary support.” Ace kept looking outside. “Temporary how?” “Until he decides where the panel belongs.” “That sentence has never made me feel better inside Bywater House.” “He has appropriate environmental control.” “He has hallways that change length.” “The two facts are not mutually exclusive.” Shammy looked toward the environmental partition. “He will not place it alone.” Ace turned. “Meaning?” “The room is waiting for it.” Mai’s eyes lifted from the document. “You can feel Bywater House from here?” “No.” Shammy tilted her head slightly. “I can feel the panel expecting a room.” Ace looked through the partition. The wood remained still. No creak. No click. No answer. “Does it know where it is going?” “I do not know.” “Does it want to go?” “I do not know.” “Is it angry?” “I do not know.” Ace looked toward Mai. “She is being extremely helpful.” Mai returned to the delivery file. “She is being accurate.” “That remains a hostile family habit.” Shammy smiled. The destination marker activated twenty-three minutes later. A route appeared across Mai's display. Three turns. Then four. Then a narrow street Ace was certain had not existed the last time they visited Bywater House. She leaned closer to the window. “That was a pharmacy.” Mai checked the municipal overlay. “The record says residential access.” “The record is lying.” “Or your memory is.” “My memory has knives.” “That does not improve evidentiary value.” Shammy looked out through the opposite window. “The rain sounds different.” Ace listened. Rain struck the carrier roof with the same soft mechanical rhythm as before. Then the vehicle turned. The sound changed. Not louder. Deeper. As though the rain had begun falling from farther away. The street narrowed between old buildings that had survived redevelopment mostly because every nearby planning office had disagreed about who owned them. At the end stood Bywater House. Dark brick. Tall windows. A narrow front garden protected by black ironwork. No corporate markers. No security. No visible loading access large enough for a three-meter wooden panel. Ace looked toward the rear partition. Then at the house. “No.” Mai studied the geometry. “The route confirms.” “The panel does not fit.” Shammy’s hair lifted. “The house knows.” “That is not better.” The carrier stopped beside the curb. The rain continued striking the roof. Beyond the windows of Bywater House, warm light waited. The front door opened before anyone touched the bell. Collector stood beneath the entrance light. Refined. Immaculate. Older without being easy to age. His clothing belonged neither to Night City’s corporations nor to any historical period Ace could identify cleanly. It simply looked correct on him, which was somehow more suspicious. He smiled. Not broadly. Warmly enough that it felt sincere. “Ah,” he said as the Triad stepped from the carrier. “Wonderful. Friday the thirteenth again.” Ace looked up at the grey sky. “You sound pleased.” “I find reliable traditions comforting.” Shammy stepped down behind Mai. Collector inclined his head to her. “Shamaterazu.” “Collector.” “The weather appears undecided.” Shammy listened to the rain. “It has chosen to continue.” “Very sensible.” He looked at Mai. “Tea?” “Yes.” Then Ace. “Coffee. Strong, no artificial sweetener.” Ace narrowed her violet eyes. “You remember too much.” “I remember hospitality.” “That is not a denial.” “No.” His smile moved slightly. The transport lead approached with the unloading authorization. Collector accepted the document without looking away from the Triad. “May I?” Mai handed him the formal transfer record. “You may review it before physical acceptance.” “I trust your summary.” “You should still read it.” Collector’s eyes warmed. “Of course.” He did. Every page. Every condition note. Every support limitation Jessie had insisted be included. He did not rush. The rain fell. The transport crew waited. Ace shifted her weight once, then stopped when Mai glanced at her. Collector reached the final page. “The original frame attempted to correct the object.” “Yes,” Mai said. “And in doing so, damaged it.” “Yes.” “The current cradle follows the wood’s chosen contour.” “Its free contour,” Mai corrected. Collector looked at her. “An important distinction.” He signed. His handwriting appeared precise and old-fashioned without becoming decorative. Then he looked toward the vehicle. “Please bring it inside.” Ace looked at the front door. Then at him. “It will not fit.” Collector turned toward the entrance as though encountering the problem for the first time. “Ah.” Ace waited. He waited too. Mai looked at the door. Shammy’s hair lifted. The transport lead checked the measurements again. The front entrance was less than half the required width. Collector stepped aside. “Perhaps from an angle.” Ace stared at him. “Three meters do not become smaller from an angle.” “Not normally.” Mai closed her eyes for half a second. The transport team opened the carrier. The cradle descended onto a low rolling platform. Ace walked beside the left edge. Mai took the right. Shammy followed behind, one hand close enough to feel pressure change without touching the wood. The transport crew guided the weight toward the front garden. The gate opened wider than its hinges allowed. Ace watched the ironwork move. No bending. No mechanical extension. The opening simply possessed more width than the fence appeared to contain. She pointed. “I saw that.” Collector stood beside the door. “I am certain you did.” The front entrance remained narrow until the cradle reached it. Then the surrounding brick appeared farther apart. Not moving. Being elsewhere. The transport lead stopped. His professional expression held through visible effort. “Clearance reads fourteen centimeters.” Ace looked at the original doorframe. “Your equipment is lying.” Mai checked the reading. “No. The available clearance is fourteen centimeters.” “The wall moved.” “The relationship between the wall and the opening changed.” “That is the same sentence with more expensive education.” Collector looked pleased. “An excellent distinction nonetheless.” The panel passed through. No scrape. No tilt. No sudden compression. The house accepted the cradle as though the doorway had always been designed for it. Inside, Bywater House smelled faintly of old books, dark wood, rain and coffee that had no business being as good as Ace already knew it would be. The entrance hall was larger than the exterior allowed. Not dramatically. Just enough that the mind kept trying to recalculate the street. A long carpet crossed the floor. Paintings occupied the walls without establishing a shared century. A grandfather clock near the staircase displayed 09:17. A smaller clock on a side table displayed 08:52. Neither seemed wrong. A grey cat sat on the stairs. Ace looked at it. The cat looked back. “Do you own a cat now?” Collector followed her gaze. The stairs were empty. “Not to my knowledge.” Ace turned back. The cat sat beside the umbrella stand. Shammy smiled. Mai chose not to participate. Collector led them through the entrance hall. The transport crew rolled the panel along a corridor that had enough space because questioning that fact had already proved unrewarding. Rain sounded against windows on the left. Ace looked through one. The window showed a garden beneath clear afternoon sunlight. She stopped. Mai touched her shoulder. “Do not.” “I was only looking.” “Yes.” “That is still allowed.” “In moderation.” Collector opened a pair of dark wooden doors. Beyond them waited a long room with no other artifacts visible. No shelves. No display lights. No theatrical presentation. The floor had been reinforced beneath a broad isolation platform. At its center stood a new support structure. Not a frame. Not a wall mount. A low curved cradle built according to Jessie’s final contour package. Ace looked at Collector. “You had that made quickly.” “Rogue sent the required measurements.” “When?” “Soon enough.” Mai inspected the structure. Broad contact surfaces. Manual adjustment. Independent raw load displays. No acoustic equipment. No automated compensation. No speakers. No concealed projectors. No obvious network connection. Collector had followed every condition. He had also added something none of the Vesper systems possessed. Empty space. The panel would not be forced upright. Would not be pressed flat. Would not be made to perform visual importance for a room. It would rest. Shammy entered last. The air changed. Not because she pushed it. Because the room already held a pressure pattern and adjusted around her presence. Her hair lifted away from her shoulders. Collector noticed. He did not stare. “Suitable?” Shammy walked around the prepared cradle. She stood near the far wall. Then near the doors. Then beside the place where the panel would rest. “The room does not want anything.” Collector nodded. “That was the intention.” Ace looked at him. “You built a room with no intention?” “No.” Collector’s smile warmed. “I built a room whose intention is not to ask.” The Oathwood Panel creaked inside the transport cradle. One quiet sound. The crew stopped. No load warning appeared. Shammy looked toward the old wood. “It heard.” Collector did not approach. He simply waited. Mai gave the transport lead the staged transfer sequence. The warehouse cradle would remain beneath the panel while the Bywater support rose gradually into contact. No point would release until the corresponding new surface carried verified weight. The process took thirty-seven minutes. No one hurried it. Ace watched the doors and the panel. No threat arrived through either. Mai watched the load values and every hand near the controls. Shammy watched the room. Collector stood slightly apart. He did not offer commentary. Did not explain the carvings. Did not ask anyone to make a promise near the wood. The lower-right corner transferred first. The value changed. Held. Returned naturally. Then center. Then upper-left. Each support accepted weight without trying to correct shape. The panel moved by less than a millimeter. The fracture did not extend. When the final transport support released, the Oathwood Panel rested entirely inside Bywater House. Curved. Uneven. Dark. No longer pretending to be flat. The condition specialist monitored the values. “Transfer stable.” Ace looked at her. The specialist corrected herself immediately. “Not worsening.” Jessie’s influence had travelled with the paperwork. Ace smiled. “Good.” Mai reviewed the final numbers. Shammy stepped closer to the panel. The carvings caught the room’s warm light. For a moment, they looked less like symbols and more like places where many hands had touched the same meaning over centuries. Shammy listened. “It is carrying less.” Collector stood beside her, still leaving respectful distance. “Less pressure?” “Less expectation.” He considered. “Good.” Mai brought forward the transfer document. “Physical custody passes upon your acceptance of the recorded condition and current support state.” Collector read the values. Then looked at the panel. “I accept custody.” The wood clicked. One quiet answer. The load values did not spike. Ace looked toward Shammy. Shammy’s expression remained calm. Mai watched Collector. Not because the response proved anything. Because the words mattered. Collector had not said he accepted ownership. He had said custody. Responsibility before possession. Mai noticed. Collector noticed her noticing. His smile moved by the smallest degree. She held out the signing field. He completed it. The custody chain locked. A secure message arrived on Maiven display. **ROGUE: DELIVERY CONFIRMED. CONTRACT CLOSED.** Ace leaned toward the screen. “That is almost warm.” “No,” Mai said. “Efficiently warm.” “No.” Collector turned toward the transport crew. “Thank you.” The lead inclined his head. The crew removed the empty warehouse cradle. The room allowed it to leave through the same doors without architectural argument. When the last equipment case crossed the corridor, Collector closed the doors. The Oathwood Panel remained alone inside. No guards. No visible surveillance. No one testing whether it remembered the promise it had just heard. Ace looked at the closed room. “Is it dangerous?” Collector turned toward her. “Almost certainly.” “Specific.” “You appreciate directness.” “I appreciate surviving.” “A sensible preference.” He folded his hands behind his back. “The panel appears to remember weight carried through sincere commitment. That does not mean it understands justice, intent or mercy in any human sense.” Ace waited. Collector continued. “I would advise against asking it to prove anything.” Mai looked toward the closed doors. “You will not test it.” “No.” “Arden Meridian believed its responses could be classified.” “Corporations often mistake classification for understanding.” Shammy looked at Collector. “What will you do with it?” He considered the question seriously. “Allow it to remain somewhere promises are not demanded as proof of loyalty.” Shammy nodded. That answer satisfied her. Ace remained suspicious. “That is all?” “For today.” Collector began walking toward the sitting room. “Coffee?” Ace followed. “Yes.” “Tea?” he asked Mai. “Yes.” He looked toward Shammy. “The same blend as last time?” Shammy smiled. “Yes.” The delivery was complete. The panel belonged to the collection now. The contract had closed. No new assignment waited inside the next room. Collector did not give jobs. Rogue gave jobs. The distinction survived even here. --- The sitting room had changed since their previous visit. Ace was almost certain the fireplace had occupied the opposite wall. Mai was almost certain the ceiling had been lower. Shammy looked toward a row of windows showing rain against dark glass. Outside, morning remained grey. Inside the windows, evening seemed to have arrived politely ahead of schedule. Nobody discussed it. Collector poured coffee for Ace. Dark. Strong. Correct. Tea for Mai. A different tea for Shammy. A plate of small pastries occupied the low table. Ace looked at them. “Are those safe?” Collector sat. “Entirely.” “That word has been abused recently.” “Then perhaps cautiously edible.” Ace took one. Mai watched. Ace bit into it. Nothing happened. “Acceptable.” “I am relieved.” Shammy sat in the only chair built for someone her height. Ace looked at Collector. “You had that made too.” “No.” Shammy examined the chair. “It fits.” “Yes.” “Who was it for?” Collector lifted his tea. “A guest.” Ace waited. Collector drank. No further answer arrived. Mai rested her cup against one knee. The quiet inside Bywater House was comfortable in a way that made ordinary vigilance feel slightly rude. Ace remained vigilant anyway. Shammy listened to the rain. Collector watched none of them too directly. “You handled the panel well,” he said. Mai answered first. “Jessie identified the frame failure.” “I read the condition record.” “Then you know the delivery depended on her work.” “Yes.” Collector’s voice remained gentle. “I have already sent Rogue a separate gratuity for the consultant.” Ace looked at him. “Rogue will hate the word gratuity.” “Then she may rename it before payment.” Mai’s mouth curved. “She will.” Collector looked toward Shammy. “And Sera’s effect upon the auction appears to have been substantial.” Shammy held her cup in both hands. “I told them the catalogue was wrong.” “So I understand.” “They became excited.” “People with money often interpret correction as privileged access.” Ace nodded. “Then they spent half a billion.” Collector’s expression remained unchanged. “People have spent more for less interesting reasons.” Ace studied him. “How much did you expect Rogue to spend?” Collector sipped his tea. “Enough.” “That is her answer.” “It is a useful answer.” Mai looked at him. “You placed no price ceiling.” “No.” “Why?” “Because price and value were unlikely to remain related once Arden Meridian exposed its interest.” Mai’s silver-blue gaze sharpened. “You anticipated corporate participation.” “I anticipated appetite.” “That is not the same.” “No.” Collector smiled because she had noticed. Ace looked between them. “This is why your tea conversations take hours.” “Sometimes,” Collector said, “the tea is excellent.” “It is,” Mai admitted. Shammy looked toward the doorway. Her hair lifted. Ace saw it immediately. “What?” “Someone is coming.” Collector checked no clock. “No.” The door at the far end of the sitting room opened. A short man entered. Very short. Shorter than Ace. He wore a dark coat cut plainly enough that the craftsmanship became obvious only when he moved. A copper-red beard covered most of the lower half of his face, carefully kept without becoming ornamental. His boots made almost no sound against the wooden floor. No visible chrome. No dramatic weapon. No rune burning in the air. He did not need one. Mai became still. Not frightened. Not surprised. Focused in a way Ace had seen only twice before. The man looked at her. Then at Ace. His eyes carried dry recognition. “Little knife.” Ace took another bite of the pastry. “Runekeeper.” Shammy looked between them. “You know each other.” Ace swallowed. “He has perspective issues.” Runekeeper’s copper-red beard moved slightly. Perhaps amusement. Perhaps not. Collector poured another cup of coffee without asking. A fourth chair stood beside the table now. Ace was certain it had not been there earlier. Runekeeper crossed the room and sat. His feet reached the floor. Ace found that personally suspicious. Collector handed him the coffee. “Your timing is excellent.” “No.” Runekeeper looked toward the closed corridor leading to the Oathwood Panel. “Your house delayed the west passage.” Collector considered. “The passage has always been somewhat reflective.” “It added two rooms.” “Did you enjoy them?” “No.” “Then perhaps next time it will choose differently.” Runekeeper drank the coffee. Ace looked toward Mai. Mai had not moved. Runekeeper noticed. “I heard the foundation moved.” Mai’s voice remained level. “From whom?” “A fool with an alarm clock.” Ace smiled. “Boogeyman.” Runekeeper looked at her. “He remains alive?” “Shammy treated him.” Shammy nodded. “He was injured.” Runekeeper accepted the answer as sufficient. His eyes returned to Mai. “He said you broke his isolation.” “Yes.” “He said you used my foundation.” “I used mine.” A pause. Collector drank tea. Ace stopped eating. Shammy’s hair lifted as the pressure in the room narrowed around two people without becoming hostile. Runekeeper studied Mai’s hands. No rune showed there. None needed to. “What I gave you was incomplete,” he said. “Yes.” “You knew.” “Yes.” “You continued anyway.” “Yes.” “Poorly?” “At first.” “Dangerously?” “Sometimes.” “Successfully?” Mai held his gaze. “I am here.” Runekeeper’s expression did not change. The room changed around it anyway. Not visibly. The air acquired the clean tension of a line drawn before anyone agreed where the boundary belonged. Ace set the remaining pastry down. Shammy watched both of them. Collector remained seated. No one mistook the moment for a threat. It was recognition. Runekeeper looked toward Ace. “You will interfere.” “If necessary.” Then Shammy. “You will decide when.” Shammy answered calmly. “Yes.” His gaze returned to Mai. “The whole structure came.” Mai’s voice softened by almost nothing. “The delivery belongs to the Triad.” Runekeeper nodded once. “As it should.” There. No question of absence. No suggestion that Maiven development required removing Ace or Shammy from the room. No test built around pretending relationship contaminated strength. Boogeyman had already made that mistake. Runekeeper would not repeat another man’s failed question. He placed his coffee on the table. “I want to see what you built.” Mai’s fingers rested around her tea cup. “You have seen the result.” “I have heard about the result.” “You believe him?” “No.” Ace smiled. “Healthy.” Runekeeper ignored her. “I believe the foundation moved.” Mai set down her tea. “And if it did?” “Then I should know whether it failed.” “It did not.” “Whether you failed it.” Mai’s eyes cooled. “I did not.” “Whether what you call yours remains mine with additions.” “No.” The answer came immediately. Runekeeper’s beard moved again. This time it was definitely a smile. Small. Gone quickly. “Good.” Collector looked toward the rain-dark windows. “There is a courtyard.” Ace turned toward him. “Of course there is.” “There was not last time,” Mai said. “Then it may be new.” Runekeeper stood. Mai did the same. Shammy set down her cup. Ace climbed from her chair. Collector remained seated. “The coffee will remain warm.” Ace looked at him. “That sounded like a promise.” “No.” He smiled. “A household observation.” From somewhere behind the closed corridor, the Oathwood Panel clicked once. Everyone heard it. Collector lifted his cup. “Interesting.” Runekeeper looked toward the sound. Then at Mai. “Outside.” Mai’s silver-blue eyes held his. “The Triad comes.” “I know.” He turned toward the door. Ace fell into step beside Mai. Shammy followed, the room’s pressure opening around all three of them as one structure rather than separating for a duel that had not yet earned its shape. The delivery was complete. The contract was closed. The Oathwood Panel rested somewhere that would not force it to perform. And on Friday the thirteenth, inside a house whose courtyard might not have existed an hour earlier, the Runekeeper finally came to see what Mai had built from the foundation he once gave her.