Argent sits back down on the couch, and again he seems immune—or oblivious—to the grievous bodily harm it tried to inflict on me earlier. "Okay," he says slowly, his voice even more tired than it was when he first arrived at the shadow clinic. "Let’s assume you’re right, Mary. The virus is genetically engineered—whether from scratch or just tweaked doesn’t really matter at the moment and only a single, specific spell will trigger it, presumably developed in tandem with the bug itself." He glances at the doc, and she nods confirmation. "Then where does that lead us?"