The library smelled faintly of dust and old paper, the kind of air that never really changed no matter how often you opened a window. A weak shaft of light cut through the high glass panes, illuminating the stacks and catching on drifting motes. Logos sat at one of the long tables, chin resting on his palm, looking more like a prisoner awaiting trial than a boy surrounded by knowledge.
"Do I really have to stay here?" he asked.
"Yes," Lucy said without looking up from the ledger she was writing in. "Because I know you're planning to eavesdrop."
"No, I'm just going to leave this ruin there."
He reached into his pocket and produced a small metal disk about the size of a large coin. Intricate blue lines wound across its surface in curling arcs, etched so fine they caught the light only when tilted. The pattern was mesmerizing — at least, until you realized it pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
Lucy's eyes narrowed. "What is that?"
"A listening coin," Logos said matter-of-factly. "Place it anywhere and whatever is being said within a certain radius will sound from its twin."
"So basically," she said slowly, "a magic bug."
"Not a bug," Logos said, visibly offended. "Insects have nothing to do with it. This is an engineered resonance enchantment tied to a compressed mana lattice. I designed the framework based on certain descriptions in Thaumic Transmission Theory — although Thaumic's original equations were a mess, by the way, so I had to rebuild them from scratch."
Lucy leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. "And you made this because…?"
"Because," Logos said, as though explaining something obvious, "there is a meeting today between the steward, my father's quartermaster, my father himself, and two people I've never seen before. They arrived under guard, which means they're important. I want to know what they're talking about."
"And you think you should know because…?"
"Because the people in charge are making decisions about resources," Logos replied, "and resources determine whether or not I can finish my projects without interruption."
Lucy gave a short, incredulous laugh. "Ah, there it is. Not 'for the good of the people.' Not 'to help your father govern.' You're worried about funding your next ridiculous thing."
"I have an entire range of things planned for administration," Logos countered, expression calm but eyes faintly glinting.
"And that's because you want to have more time for tinkering," she said flatly.
"Spot on," Logos said without hesitation. Then he frowned. "But how did you guess?"
Lucy closed her ledger and gave him the kind of look normally reserved for wayward students. "Because I've known you since you were six, and in all that time, you've never once taken an interest in politics unless it directly affected your workshop. You're not subtle."
"I'm perfectly subtle," Logos said.
"You're currently sitting in the library explaining your eavesdropping device to the person who's supposed to be stopping you from eavesdropping," she pointed out.
"That's… different."
"No, it's really not."
He sighed and leaned back in his chair, twirling the coin between his fingers. "Regardless, this isn't just idle curiosity. The barony's finances are strained — severely. The south granary is barely holding together, the northern mines are producing less than a third of what they used to, and the trade route through the lower pass has been blocked twice this year. If I'm going to finish my long-term projects, I need to know whether the next budget cycle is going to cripple my supply chains."
Lucy arched an eyebrow. "You do realize you just said all that like a fifty-year-old steward and not an eleven-year-old boy, right?"
"Your point?"
"My point is that most children your age worry about whether dessert is cake or pie, not about budget cycles."
"Dessert is irrelevant," Logos said, waving a hand dismissively. "Now, resource allocation—"
Lucy groaned and rubbed her forehead. "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but… fine. Hypothetically, if you were going to plant that thing, where would you put it?"
He brightened. "Under the corner of the meeting table. It has a directional pickup pattern, so it won't record the guards stationed outside — only those seated within two meters. The twin here will relay everything in perfect clarity, no distortion."
"And the twin is…?"
He tapped his breast pocket. "Right here. Compact, portable, and shielded against detection magic."
Lucy looked skyward, as if asking the ceiling for patience. "And you just happened to have all the materials lying around to make this?"
"I improvised. The housing is forged from leftover brass scrap, the lattice core is compressed from a failed crystal conduit experiment, and the mana circuits are drawn in alchemic silver ink I synthesized from—"
"Stop." She held up a hand. "If I let you keep going, I'll have to confiscate half your workshop for safety reasons."
"Confiscating it would be highly inefficient," Logos said seriously. "Also, impossible. I've cataloged every component and would know instantly if something was missing."
Lucy gave him a long, slow stare. "You're aware that saying things like that makes you sound… unnerving, right?"
"I prefer the term 'competent.'"
She sighed again, then glanced toward the tall clock at the end of the hall. "Well, too bad. You're staying here."
Logos sat in silence for a few moments, then asked, "And if I told you I already planted it an hour ago?"
Her head snapped toward him. "…You what?"
"Time efficiency," Logos said with a faint smile. "If I'd waited until now, I might have missed the opening remarks. This way, I'll get the entire conversation from start to finish."
Lucy stared at him for a long moment before muttering, "I am going to regret every life choice that led me here."
"You've said that before," Logos reminded her.
"And I'll keep saying it," she said. "Especially once whatever you hear in that meeting drags you into trouble."
Logos didn't answer. He was already pulling a small, palm-sized receiver from his pocket — the coin's twin. He set it on the table between them.
For a few seconds, there was only the faint hum of the enchantment warming up. Then, a distant voice spoke — clear as if the speaker were in the next chair.
"…production quotas must be met, or the capital will send inspectors," the steward's voice said.
Another voice — unfamiliar, clipped, and carrying the tone of someone used to giving orders — replied, "Then you will divert labor from the lower farms. The harvest yield is irrelevant if the crown seizes our assets for noncompliance."
Lucy gave Logos a sharp look, but he only leaned forward, eyes focused.
Whatever was happening in that meeting, it was already sounding like more than just "resource allocation."