Leverage

Clayton adjusted the cuffs of his jacket as he stood outside Haltright's apartment, just beside Asher and Eric. The corridor was unusually quiet for a weekday—too quiet. It was early evening, a time when most instructors were still finishing lectures or retreating into their private archives.

"Are you sure this is the best way?" Clayton asked, voice low.

"No," Asher replied, stepping forward. "But it's the only way we'll get him to talk."

Eric exhaled slowly, scanning the wards near the entrance. "No alarms. At least he's not expecting this."

Haltright's apartment was in the heart of Vyrith, near the Tower of Accords. Haltright was one of the few who had unrestricted access to every department, a senior figure on the internal council, and officially listed as the "Facilitator of Inter-Academic Relations." In practice, it meant he was a glorified diplomat and political fixer.

And right now, he was their only lead.

They knocked twice.

The door opened moments later to reveal Haltright, dressed impeccably in a purple robe layered with stitched gold. His eyes flicked from one student to the next—curious, not surprised.

"Ah," he said smoothly. "The prodigies come bearing demands?"

Asher gave him a practiced smile. "We were hoping to speak with you privately, Professor."

Haltright gestured inside. "Come in, then. If nothing else, I'm always curious when the prince, the union heir, and the Antigonus anomaly arrive unannounced."

The three stepped into a room that reeked of influence. Polished stone floors. Floating scroll shelves. A silver kettle brewing a deep cinnamon-scented tea in midair.

Once seated, Haltright folded his hands. "Let me guess. You have concerns about elective allocations?"

Clayton opened first. "We think you're aware of some of the strange activity related to illusion-based electives. Specifically… Instructor Marvin."

Haltright's expression didn't change. He was good. But his fingers twitched.

"I process over seventy elective approvals a season," he said mildly. "That includes reviewing instructor credentials, recent research, and projected enrollment. If you have concerns, submit them through—"

Eric interrupted. "We already looked through the logs."

Clayton picked up where he left off. "You greenlit Marvin's electives this term without full departmental review. You also flagged them under a fast-track clause reserved for competitive innovation. Problem is—he's not submitted a research proposal in two years."

"An oversight, perhaps," Haltright replied, still calm. "The academy is large, and delegation is common."

Eric tapped a crystal slab and let the holo-image project over the table. "You also reallocated excess budget—around 3200 gold—from defunct alchemy electives into Marvin's teaching grant."

"Legally permissible," Haltright said quickly.

Clayton narrowed his gaze. "But not without a review council signature."

There was a pause.

Then Haltright sighed and leaned back. "Fine. Let's drop the pretense."

The calm mask cracked just a little, revealing a different man beneath—sharper, more tired.

"You want the truth? I approved a ton of electives last month. I don't even know any Marvin."

"Why?" They asked

"Because I was told to do so." Haltright answered

"By whom?" Asher asked.

Haltright smiled thinly. "I don't know."

He lifted a slender data scroll from his desk, tapped twice, and projected an old message. The sender was anonymized. The text was short:

Approve electives ARC-FNS and ILL-MCH. Send funding from pool #7. Keep it quiet. Or your expense trail from the Solstice Conference two years ago gets forwarded to the Guild Audit.

Eric muttered under his breath, "Blackmail."

"There's more," Haltright said. "Two days after that message, I was quietly granted a ceremonial seat on the Internal Curriculum Council. No explanation. No vote. Just… handed to me."

Clayton exchanged a glance with Asher.

"Which means someone wanted you complicit," Clayton said. "Reward and leash."

Haltright nodded. "And if I hadn't played along, they would've buried me. Every professor here has skeletons. We all play the game."

Eric leaned forward. "Then why stay quiet?"

Haltright hesitated. Then he stood and walked toward the tall window overlooking the East Tower gardens.

"Vyrith isn't an academy," he said slowly. "Not truly. It's a nation-sized vessel for power—raw, refined, and dangerous. Professors aren't just teachers. We're gatekeepers. Some control curriculum. Others control student access. Some of us…" He looked back. "Some of us keep the peace between rival factions who would rather see this place burn than share influence."

Clayton frowned. "Then who's at the top?"

Haltright smiled faintly. "There is no top. That's the brilliance. Vyrith is designed like a rotating key—leadership shifts every decade. Every professor holds a piece of control, but no one holds all of it. Which means… subversion is easier than you think."

"And Marvin?" Asher pressed. "Was he part of someone's plan to plant seeds?"

Haltright shrugged. "Possibly. I didn't investigate. Didn't want to."

He turned, fully facing them now. "But I'm not stupid. I've seen students go missing. Cards with no origin. Silence where there should be scrutiny."

Clayton stepped forward. "Then help us. Tell us what you do know."

Haltright gave a long, exhausted sigh.

"There's a murmur or some rumor of a project—unofficial, as all the good ones are. Something about… testing imprint elasticity. I don't know much, but some professors think they can 'soft-shape' young weavers through exposure to certain spell patterns and arcane frequencies. Marvin's electives fit that mold."

"Who supports it?" Eric asked.

"Someone with clout. Maybe a senior seatholder. Maybe more than one."

There was a long silence.

Then Asher asked, "Would you be willing to leak us the other electives you were told to approve?"

Haltright studied him. "Not for free."

Clayton blinked. "Seriously?"

Haltright chuckled. "Don't look so shocked. Politics doesn't end when you're caught. It just evolves."

Asher nodded slowly. "Fine. What do you want?"

Haltright's eyes gleamed. "Protection. If this explodes—and it will—I want a shield. Preferably Augustus, since they're the only ones who scare the academics."

Asher didn't flinch. "Done. You'll get it."

The deal was struck.

As they left the office, Eric muttered, "We just made a deal with a man who approved brainwashing electives."

"Correction," Asher replied. "We made a deal with a man who finally realized he was being used."

Clayton remained quiet as they walked, his mind already moving toward the next step.

They had a name now.

A network.

A trail of influence spreading from one quiet instructor's office to the high towers of Vyrith itself.

And whoever was behind it?

They were already several moves ahead.

But not for long.