Lumian waited patiently until midnight drew near. As the clock struck 11:30 p.m., the light in Ive's room went out, yet no one emerged from the apartment. It seemed the miser had decided to save on gas bills and retired for the night. The final act of the play at Théâtre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons concluded as midnight approached. The audience trickled out one by one, but no one entered the theater.
Lumian muttered to himself, his thoughts racing: Could it be that the Prophecy Spell's answer isn't precise enough? After all, the ritualistic magic was cast by me. It's understandable that its effect isn't perfect. Yes, that's a possibility. But what if the Prophecy Spell is accurate?
Alarmed amidst his thoughts, Lumian's head snapped in the direction of the door adorned with theater posters.
If the Prophecy Spell was correct, it meant that Monsieur Ive had indeed been at Théâtre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons between 11 p.m. and midnight.
