[ Akua is very much different than John. Perhaps it is that she has not been god for several millennia, or perhaps it is the fact that she has had to explicitly address and deal with those awkward and uncomfortable things that make one want to shirk away from confrontation. She has looked her killer in the eye, and tempted her, teased her, and kissed her, before she slayed her yet again. It is a thing Akua Sahelian knows of, because she has made the mistakes that are damning, and knows how one can still...cooperate, despite them.

Or perhaps it is because of them.

She is there as well, though she has less focus on the wards, and more on the leftover traces of what the former occupant once left. She could do the wards all well enough -- but John had been so focused on them, and she had thought that interrupting would be... unwelcome.

So she studied, instead, her fingers trailed against the leftover magic tracks, as if she could pull the very nature of their magic from them -- as though she could see the ghost of calculations beneath them. She cannot, but it's like it's nearly there, almost out of her sight.

Though... perhaps... She looked up, and tipped her head at the ward. ]

John, dear, how do are the wards? [ A beat. ]

You need only ask, if you would like an addition of...opposing energy, as it were.