The Oak Room felt different when occupied by the High Ancient Mandate.
The air was thicker, charged with a gravity that made the room itself seem bigger.
Grayson Wolfe took his accustomed seat, not at the head of the table, but positioned where he could observe both the speaker and the reactions of the others.
His gold-rimmed glasses caught the light from the single, heavy crystal chandelier.
Mr. Withersby from the historical society presided. He was the public face of the Mandate, a man whose life's work had been the careful curation of the city's acceptable history.
Here, however, his demeanor was not that of a gentle archivist, but of a field marshal.
"The matter of the Thinning," Withersby began, his voice low but carrying to every corner of the silent room.
"The incidents are no longer isolated. The Davidson event was a rupture. A messy, public failure of containment."
Grayson listened, his face a mask of calm detachment. He had read the same reports and conducted his own analysis.
The "Thinning" was their term for the degradation of the barrier between their world and… something else. A place, a state, a dimension—the semantics were debated, but the effects were not.
"Our monitoring stations at the old resonance points show increased fluctuation," said a severe-looking woman named Dr. Varma, who oversaw the city's power grid.
"The drain patterns are becoming more sophisticated, more targeted. It's no longer just random bleed-off. It's as if something is learning."
"Or being taught." Grayson interjected softly.
All eyes turned to him.
"The burglary case solved by the police. The method used to disable the security systems was a precise, localized replication of a Grifter's ambient effect. A human mind has reverse-engineered a supernatural phenomenon."
A murmur went around the table. This was a more dangerous proposition than mindless energy.
"The old families grow restless," Withersby said, steering the conversation back to politics.
"The Bensons, in particular, are applying pressure. They feel the ancient agreements are… outdated. That we should be doing more than just monitoring and patching."
Grayson thought of The Quill, with his archaic speech and his disguised front. Was his presence in the Oxford Club a scouting mission for his family? political or noble-affiliated? The possibility was non-negligible.
"Our primary mandate is stability." Withersby continued, his tone firm.
"Not escalation. We contain. We preserve the balance. The Davidson subject was a regrettable preface, an attempt to 'harness' the Thinning that went catastrophically wrong. We will not repeat that error."
The discussion continued, a dry, terrifying inventory of a city slowly coming undone.
They spoke of attenuation protocols for new resonance points, of allocating resources to reinforce the wards in the old city center, of the need for more discreet operatives within the city's infrastructure.
Grayson contributed where his expertise was relevant—the neurological impact of prolonged exposure to resonance fields, the physiological markers in so-called "Grifter" victims.
But his mind was partly elsewhere, in a different club meeting in this very building.
The Oxford Club was a wild variable.
The Lonely Saviour was sniffing at the edges of their secrets, armed with a policeman's access and a personal, burning motive.
Mia West was an unwitting conduit, living in a house connected to their own history through the Albright widow.
Jacob Benson was a noble, a potential political landmine.
All these, unknown to the neurosurgeon.
As the meeting adjourned, Withersby approached him.
"Grayson. Your assessment is, as always, invaluable. Keep a close watch on these… developments. Both the technical and the human."
His meaning was clear.
The Mandate knew he had joined the Oxford Club. They expected a return on that investment.
Grayson nodded. "Of course."
He left the Oak Room, the weight of his dual affiliations settling on his shoulders.
He was The Staff of Order within the Mandate, and The Anchor within the Oxford Club.
One sought to preserve a crumbling wall. The other was gathered by a man who seemed intent on finding a door through it.
His role was no longer just that of an observer. He was now the point of contact between two forces on a collision course, and he alone could see the trajectory.