The gas lamps flickered as Ezra walked through the empty streets of Eldenwald, A Study of the Veil and Its Manifestations clutched tightly under his coat. The night air pressed against him like damp velvet, heavy with an unnatural stillness.
Something had followed him from the archives.
He could feel it.
The sensation wasn't physical—no sound of footsteps, no shifting figures in the fog. But it was there, pressing against the edge of his perception, just beyond his ability to see.
Ezra quickened his pace, turning onto Whitmore Street. His apartment was only two blocks away. If he could just get inside, lock the doors, light every candle—
A voice stopped him.
"Mr. Lockwood."
Ezra's breath caught.
The voice came from a figure standing beneath a lamplight at the end of the street.
A man.
Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a long, formal coat with brass buttons. A hat rested low on his head, shadowing his features.
But it wasn't the man's presence that made Ezra's stomach twist.
It was the light.
The gas lamp overhead cast a golden glow onto the cobblestone, stretching long shadows behind everything in its path—the iron railing, the barrels near the alleyway, even Ezra himself.
But the man?
He had no shadow.
Ezra's fingers twitched toward his pocket knife. "Who are you?" His voice came out steadier than he felt.
The man took a slow step forward. "A concerned party."
"That's not an answer."
The man's lips curled, just slightly. Not quite a smile. "Neither was your question."
Ezra's pulse drummed against his ribs. Something was wrong with this man—not just his missing shadow, but the way he spoke. As if he was choosing his words carefully, deliberately, like a man navigating a language not meant for human mouths.
Ezra took a half-step back. "If you're looking for something, I don't have it."
The man tilted his head. "I believe you do."
His eyes flicked—just briefly—toward Ezra's coat.
The book.
Ezra's grip tightened around the fabric.
The man took another step forward. His movements were unnervingly smooth, as if the space around him bent just slightly to accommodate his presence.
Ezra's throat felt dry. "You were in the archives."
The man inclined his head. "I was."
"You were looking for this," Ezra said, shifting his stance slightly. "Weren't you?"
The man's expression didn't change. "I was looking for many things."
A gust of wind passed through the street. The lamp overhead flickered—just for a moment.
And in that brief second of darkness, the man vanished.
Ezra's breath hitched. He turned sharply, scanning the street—
A whisper curled against his ear.
"I will find you again, Mr. Lockwood."
Ezra twisted—nothing.
The street was empty.
Only the flickering lamplight remained, stretching his own shadow long across the cobblestone.
He was alone.
And yet, he knew—
He was being watched.