The transition from the library to the dinner table felt like a military troop movement disguised as a family stroll. As we walked, Arin kept his head down, mumbling about the different grades of Northern clay. By the time we reached the Academy's grand dining hall, he had successfully put himself—and me—into a light trance.
The dinner was intended to be a trap, but Albrecht and the Grey Cloak had no idea they were about to be trapped in a cage of sheer, unmitigated dullness.
The dining hall was cold, lit by iron chandeliers that dripped tallow like frozen tears. Principal Albrecht sat at the head of the table, flanked by the Grey Cloak. They looked like hunters waiting for a fox. Instead, they got me—a man carrying a thick leather folder labeled "Sub-Surface Drainage Anomalies."
"Master Verne," Albrecht said, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "We are so pleased you could join us. I trust the walk was... pleasant?"
"Pleasant? It was a topographical revelation!" I beamed, pulling out my chair with a screech that set the Grey Cloak's teeth on edge. "The way the cobblestones on the East street are beginning to heave due to frost-jacking is simply scandalous. Arin and I were just discussing the mineral expansion of the local granite. Arin, what were your findings?"
Arin didn't look up from his empty plate. He spoke in a flat, rhythmic drone that sounded like a door being slowly dragged over gravel.
"The granite exhibits a 0.03% increase in volume when the humidity exceeds sixty percent," Arin recited. "This leads to a fascinating—though technically redundant—displacement of the surrounding mortar. I noticed forty-seven cracks between our house and the town square. I can describe each one in chronological order of their formation, if you'd like."
The Grey Cloak's hand twitched. He looked at Albrecht, who was currently staring at Arin as if the boy were a particularly confusing statue.
"That... won't be necessary," Albrecht said. "Let us eat. We have much to discuss regarding the West Wing."
As the soup was served, Lysa took her cue. While most children would be intimidated by the Imperial finery, she leaned toward the Grey Cloak and pointed a finger at his tunic.
"That weave," she said, her voice devoid of any childhood wonder. "It's a three-over-one twill, isn't it? If the sheep were fed on high-alkaline grass, the tensile strength of the wool would increase by four Newtons, but the dye absorption would suffer. Let's discuss the correlation between sheep-diet and the longevity of grey pigments."
The Grey Cloak stopped mid-spoonful. He looked at Lysa, then at me, his eyes pleading for a different topic.
I didn't give him one. "Ah! Lysa is so observant! It reminds me of the 14-year legal battle over the Salt-Licked Pond! Did you know the entire case hinged on the chemical residue left by a single flock of North-Rams? I have the depositions right here in my bag. All eight hundred pages."
I reached for my satchel. Albrecht held up a hand, his face turning a pale shade of grey.
"Master Verne, please," Albrecht choked out. "Let us focus on the meal. The West Wing can wait until... tomorrow."
"But the gutters!" I cried, my voice rising with a passion that made the candles flicker. "The Academy's gutters are a crime against fluid dynamics! If we don't discuss the sediment buildup in the North-East downspout right now, I won't be able to sleep!"
For the next two hours, the dining hall was a tomb of boredom. I led a spirited—and entirely one-sided—debate on the merits of lead versus copper piping. Arin chimed in with "Pebble Statistics," and Lysa questioned the server for twenty minutes on the exact moisture content of the bread crust.
By the time the dessert arrived, the Grey Cloak was slumped in his chair, staring at a moth with an expression of pure envy. He wanted to be the moth. The moth didn't have to hear about sheep levies.
Midnight: The Architect's Question
We returned home under a shroud of victory. The children were exhausted from the sheer effort of being so dull, retreating to their rooms with silent, sleepy salutes.
I followed Avaris into our bedroom. The moonlight was the only lamp we needed. I watched her unpin her hair, her movements as sharp and efficient as always. I waited until the door was firmly shut before I leaned against the wardrobe, crossing my arms.
"Avaris," I whispered, the 'Scholar' mask finally dropping. "Why did you do it? Why did you encourage them to think I'm the 'Ghost Architect'?"
I looked at her, truly confused. "You're feeding a fire, love. They're eight and ten! Arin spent the whole dinner reciting stone-expansion rates like he was a programmed clockwork. Why tell them their father is a legendary master spy when I'm just a man who really likes mud?"
Avaris stopped. She turned to me, her eyes reflecting the silver light. She didn't look like a housewife; she looked like the General I knew was hiding inside.
"Ilyas," she said softly, walking toward me. "Look at what happened tonight. Albrecht and the Courier were ready to pick our children apart. They wanted to see if Arin was a monster and if Lysa was a weapon."
She placed her hands on my chest, right over my thumping heart. "But because they think you are a 'Mastermind,' they followed your lead. They didn't see a boy with the strength to crush stone; they saw a boy who was too busy counting stone to be dangerous. You gave them a shield made of your 'boring' life, Ilyas. And because they believe you're a spy, they think the shield is a secret weapon."
"But I'm not a spy!" I protested. "I'm a researcher!"
"To the world, yes," she whispered, a small, proud smile touching her lips. "But to them? You're the man who stood in front of an Imperial Hunter and bored him into submission. That is the most heroic thing they've ever seen. If they think you're the 'Architect,' they'll stay 'boring' to make you proud. And as long as they stay boring, they stay alive."
I sighed, leaning my head against the wood of the wardrobe. "So I have to maintain this 'Legendary Mastermind' status just so my son will keep talking about dirt?"
"It's a heavy burden," she teased, leaning in to kiss my jaw. "But you do it so well. Now, go to sleep, my Architect. Tomorrow, you have 'gutters' to inspect. I expect you to be so tedious that the Principal offers to pay us just to leave the grounds."
I pulled her close, realizing that my "boring" life had become the ultimate camouflage for a family that was anything but.