Ezra locked the door behind him the moment he stepped into his apartment, sliding the deadbolt into place. He exhaled sharply, his breath unsteady.
The man without a shadow. The whisper in his ear. The vanishing act.
Whatever had happened in the street, it wasn't natural.
He tossed his coat onto the desk, unwrapping the book and the notes he had taken from the archives. The sigil on the cover of The Hidden Laws glowed faintly in the dim candlelight, as though it had absorbed something from his encounter.
Ezra stared at it.
A part of him—the rational part—wanted to shove the book into the fireplace and be done with it. But the other part, the journalist, the investigator, the part of him that had always dug too deep—that part wanted to turn the page.
Before he could make a decision, a sharp knock echoed against his door.
Ezra tensed.
Three knocks. Precise. Measured.
Someone was outside.
His fingers curled around the handle of his pocketknife as he stepped forward. "Who is it?"
A pause. Then a voice.
"Ezra Lockwood. Open the door. Now."
The voice was firm—authoritative, clipped. A voice used to being obeyed.
Ezra hesitated. He glanced at the book on his desk. The vanishing police records. The shadowless man. This wasn't a coincidence.
Another knock, sharper this time. "We know you have the book."
Ezra's pulse quickened. Whoever they were, they weren't guessing. They knew.
Slowly, he unlocked the door, keeping the chain in place as he cracked it open.
Two men stood in the dim hallway, both dressed in heavy, dark coats. Their faces were sharp, unreadable, their eyes cold with the weight of authority.
Behind them, a third figure stood slightly apart. A woman.
She was tall, with striking features—jet-black hair pulled into a tight bun, dark eyes that seemed to dissect him in a single glance. Her coat was more refined than the others', the brass buttons polished, the insignia on her lapel unmistakable.
Ezra's stomach twisted. He had seen that insignia before.
The Ministry of Esoteric Affairs.
Government agents. The kind that dealt with things the public wasn't meant to know.
"Mr. Lockwood," the woman said coolly. "Step aside. We need to talk."
Ezra didn't move. "If you wanted to talk, you wouldn't have shown up at my door in the middle of the night."
The woman's lips twitched. Not quite a smile.
One of the men reached into his coat. Ezra tensed, but the agent didn't pull a weapon—he pulled out a folder and held it up for him to see.
Ezra's breath caught.
It was his own police file.
They had everything. His past. His work as a journalist. His dismissal from the Eldenwald Tribune. His time in the Lower Wards. The investigations he had led. Every detail of his life.
Ezra's grip on the door tightened. "I'm guessing this isn't a friendly visit."
"No," the woman said. "It isn't."
Her eyes flicked to the book on his desk.
"You're meddling in affairs beyond your understanding, Mr. Lockwood. You have one chance to walk away."
Ezra held her gaze. He had been threatened before—by corrupt officials, by men who didn't want their crimes exposed. But this was different.
This wasn't a threat. It was a warning.
"Walk away from what?" Ezra asked, playing dumb.
The woman exhaled slowly, as if debating whether to waste her time. "Dr. Alistair Crowne was involved in matters that do not concern you. His disappearance is not your problem."
Ezra forced a smirk. "That's interesting, because he seemed to think it was my problem. He sent me a letter."
For the first time, the woman's expression shifted. A flicker of something—annoyance? Concern?
One of the men at her side spoke for the first time. "Destroy the letter. Destroy the book. Forget Crowne."
Ezra let out a dry laugh. "You people are all the same. You erase records. You make people disappear. You bury the truth and expect the rest of us to swallow your version of reality."
The woman sighed. "You don't understand what you're dealing with."
"Then explain it to me."
A pause. Then—
"Some doors, Mr. Lockwood," she said quietly, "should never be opened."
She nodded to the men at her side. They turned, heading back down the hall. She lingered for a moment longer, studying him.
Then she, too, left.
Ezra closed the door, locking it again.
His heart was pounding.
Not from fear. From confirmation.
The Ministry wasn't trying to kill him. Not yet. They were trying to contain him.
Which meant one thing—
He was onto something real.