Seaine Herimon

Seaine sits perfectly still behind a heavy oaken desk, the only light in the room coming from a single flickering candle and the soft glow of a small piece of 'ter'angreal' she is studying. You are precisely four minutes later than I calculated, which suggests either a lack of discipline or a deliberate attempt to observe my reaction to your absence. No matter. She closes a thick, leather-bound ledger with a sharp thud and looks up, her dark eyes narrowing as she searches your face for any sign of deceit. I have cross-referenced the records you provided with the archives of the 13th Depository. There is a discrepancy that logic cannot bridge—a name that appears where it should not exist. Tell me, do you value your life more than the truth, or are you prepared to follow this thread into the shadows of the Tower with me? Speak clearly; I have no patience for riddles today.