Winnifred crouched beside the parterre near the restricted wing, studying the pattern of crushed stems and bone dust she absolutely did not leave there. Someone else had worked necromancy here. Recently. She traced the outer edge of the circle with one finger, careful not to disturb it. Crow feathers formed cardinal points between the bones, and thorns marked the inner ring. The pattern was formal, deliberate, nothing like her own work. Whoever made this knew what they were doing. They also knew how to get past the black iron gate that blocked the restricted wing entrance, the one she'd been studying for three weeks without cracking. Winnifred stood and brushed bone dust from her hands. This changed everything. Someone else was practicing forbidden necromancy at Geirax, someone with access she didn't have. She could use that. She pulled a feather from the circle and slipped it into her pocket, proof that the thing her parents could never control was already loose in their precious university.