Scarlett walks through the market square because she needs information, not company. She's hunting for someone who knows the old ways, the death magic that might undo what she destroyed. The crowd parts around her without knowing why. She finds the library at the forest's edge, a building with tall oak shelves and windows that filter sunlight into soft patterns. A scholar sits at a reading table near the back. Scarlett approaches and asks about texts on necromancy, death rituals, anything from before the empire fell. The scholar glances up, then freezes. His eyes fix on her chest where her heart should beat but doesn't. The temperature drops around her without warning. Frost spreads across the table between them. The scholar's face goes pale. He stands slowly, backing away, and she realizes her mistake. She's been walking among the living so long she forgot what certain people can see. He reaches for something under his coat. A hunter's mark, burned into his wrist, flashes as his sleeve pulls back. She knows that symbol. She turns and walks toward the door, not running, because running would confirm what he already suspects. Behind her, she hears him speaking into a communication stone, giving her description to whoever listens on the other end.