"And if we find him."
"Then we'll know how close Azazel actually is." Vanir's expression didn't change, but something underneath it did. "And how much time the boy actually has before this comes to him instead of waiting for him to come find it."
...
The Mages Association's true seat wasn't in a building most people would recognize as significant.
From the street it looked like an old bank, Victorian stonework, the kind of facade London had hundreds of, unremarkable enough that no one looked twice. The seven elders met three floors below that facade, in a chamber that predated the building above it by several centuries, the walls lined with wards thick enough that even Archlord-tier scrying couldn't penetrate them from outside.
Seven hooded figures sat around a circular table of black stone.
