The knock did not echo.
It settled.
Three measured raps against the Ashbourne door — neither urgent nor hesitant. The kind of knock that assumed it would be answered.
Aurora descended the staircase slowly, aware of every portrait watching her pass. Elara stood near the parlor entrance, pale but composed. Darian leaned against the wall, jaw tight. Gideon had already opened the door.
They entered without ceremony.
Five of them.
The Council of Stone.
They did not wear robes or symbols of authority. Their power came from continuity, not spectacle. Dark coats. Polished boots dusted lightly from the morning road. Faces lined not with cruelty, but with responsibility.
At their head stood Magistrate Harlan — silver-haired, posture unbent despite his age. His eyes found Aurora immediately.
"Aurora Ashbourne," he said.
Not a greeting.
An acknowledgment.
She stepped fully into the parlor. "Magistrate."
The others positioned themselves deliberately — not surrounding her, but forming a quiet half-circle. Like witnesses.
"We are relieved by your return," Harlan continued. "Your mother's condition has worsened."
"She told me," Aurora replied evenly.
A flicker of approval crossed one councilwoman's face — Miriam Vale, the town's archivist. She held a leather folio close to her chest.
"The Veil weakens," Miriam said. "The containment responds accordingly."
Aurora did not ask how they knew.
The town always knew.
"How long?" she asked instead.
Harlan did not soften the answer. "Before the next moon reaches its apex."
Fourteen days.
The room seemed to contract slightly.
Darian pushed off the wall. "You can't expect her to prepare that quickly."
"It is not preparation that concerns us," Harlan replied calmly. "It is succession."
Elara's fingers tightened around the arm of the chair.
Aurora remained still. "Speak plainly."
Miriam opened the folio and withdrew a thin parchment — inked with symbols Aurora recognized instantly. The ritual sequence. The transfer binding.
"The lower chamber beneath the chapel has been cleansed," Miriam said. "The channels re-etched. The stone anointed. We await only your consent."
Consent.
Such a careful word.
"And if I refuse?" Aurora asked.
The question did not shock them.
It lingered.
Harlan studied her for a long moment. "The Ashbourne line has never refused."
"That wasn't my question."
Silence stretched.
Finally, Miriam spoke — softer now. "If the Veil fails without succession, the containment fractures gradually. Not violently. Influence spreads first. Discord. Fixations. Unusual attachments."
The air felt thinner.
Aurora thought of Isolde Ashbourne.
Of manifestation shaped like trust.
"How gradual?" Gideon asked quietly.
"Gradual enough that by the time we name it," Harlan said, "it will already be inside us."
The words did not rise in volume.
They did not need to.
Aurora felt it then — faint, distant — that silk-like awareness at the tree line beyond the house. Not pressing. Not intruding.
Listening.
As if amused by the discussion of timelines.
"You believe it seeks transition," Aurora said carefully.
Miriam's eyes sharpened. "Your mother wrote that in her last entry."
So they had read the archive.
"It adapts," Aurora continued. "It does not want to break the seal. It wants to be invited beyond it."
No one contradicted her.
Because they knew.
Harlan stepped closer now — not threatening, but earnest. "The Veil is not merely containment, Aurora. It is interpretation. You are not only binding the force. You are standing between it and the human heart."
"And if I am not strong enough?"
A rare, almost human pause flickered across his face.
"Then we will all discover what patience looks like when it no longer waits."
Outside, the wind shifted.
Elara's head turned instinctively toward the window.
Aurora did not look.
She would not give it that satisfaction.
"The ritual requires blood," Miriam said. "Not sacrifice. Alignment. The channels guide what is already yours."
Inheritance.
Not acquisition.
Aurora exhaled slowly.
Fourteen days.
Fourteen nights for something beneath the town to refine its approach. To study her solitude. To understand the shape of her resistance.
"Very well," she said at last.
The room seemed to steady.
"I will not refuse the succession."
Relief passed subtly through the council — not triumph, not celebration. Only equilibrium restored.
"But," she continued, voice calm and unwavering, "the ritual will proceed on my terms."
Harlan's gaze sharpened. "Explain."
"I want access to all prior manifestation accounts. Unedited. Unrestricted."
Miriam hesitated only briefly. "Granted."
"And I will inspect the lower chamber myself before the next moon."
"That can be arranged."
Aurora nodded once.
The council had come expecting duty.
They were leaving with something slightly different.
Resolve.
As they turned toward the door, Harlan paused beside her.
"It has never manifested fully while a Veil stood unbroken," he said quietly. "Do not let curiosity become invitation."
Aurora met his eyes evenly.
"Do not mistake awareness for curiosity."
The door closed behind them.
The house exhaled.
But outside, at the edge of the Ashbourne property, something beautiful shifted its weight among the trees.
Fourteen days.
It would not rush.
It had waited generations.
And now, at last, it had someone worthy of approaching.