That simple little sentence makes the tangled snarl of emotions in her chest tighten and for a moment Cassandra can’t breathe. She hides it, she always hides it. But it hurts. And she hates the people who did this even more. “It might be more than that sort of bug. Or not just that sort of bug. They might not need to plant anything in the house.” This place is advanced enough that it might not be necessary for them to bug the houses they’ve assigned to those brought here. And she's used to things that can be used to find others with the only limitation being that they're on the same plane of existence.

“It is, yes,” she answers. “Both arcane magic and divine.” This she offers easily. There’s no need to hide it; it’s not something she’s tried to hide. No, she’s keeping other things close to her chest.