Ezra barely slept that night.
The Ministry's warning replayed in his mind over and over, their voices a low, persistent whisper in the back of his thoughts. Destroy the letter. Destroy the book. Forget Crowne.
But the more they insisted he forget, the deeper he wanted to dig.
As dawn's pale light crept through the fog-covered streets, Ezra sat at his desk, staring at the two books before him—The Hidden Laws and Crowne's A Study of the Veil and Its Manifestations. The candle had long since burned down to a stump, wax pooled beside his notes.
He had spent hours flipping through the books, hoping for more words to appear as they had before. But The Hidden Laws remained frustratingly blank.
The only clue was the phrase it had revealed to him:
"Do you see the cracks in the world?"
Ezra exhaled, rubbing his temple. He needed something more. A new lead. Anything that would push him forward.
Then came the knock at his door.
This time, it wasn't precise or measured like the Ministry's visit. It was frantic. Urgent.
Ezra grabbed his pocket knife before unlocking the door.
Standing on the other side was Elias Finch, a junior reporter from the Eldenwald Tribune—a nervous, wiry man with too much curiosity for his own good. His round glasses were slightly askew, and his coat looked as if he had thrown it on in a hurry.
"Lockwood," Finch gasped, his breath visible in the morning chill. "You need to come with me. Now."
Ezra narrowed his eyes. "What is it?"
Finch swallowed, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting to be followed.
"They found a body," he said. "And you're going to want to see it."
Eldenwald Morgue – An Hour Later
The morgue smelled of formaldehyde and cold stone. Dim lanterns cast flickering light over the rows of metal tables, each one holding a body covered by a sheet.
Finch led Ezra past the clerk's desk, through a door marked Restricted Access.
"This morning," Finch whispered, "the police fished a man out of the river. Said he must've been there for days, but… Lockwood, you need to see it yourself."
They stopped at a metal table in the center of the room. The sheet had already been pulled back.
Ezra's stomach twisted.
The corpse was unlike anything he had ever seen.
The skin was bloated and gray, marred with strange blackened veins that seemed to pulse beneath the surface. The eyes were open—or at least, they should have been.
Where the man's eyes should have been, there was only smooth skin.
As if his sockets had been erased.
Ezra inhaled slowly. This wasn't natural.
Finch swallowed hard. "Look at his chest."
Ezra's gaze shifted downward.
And there, carved deep into the man's flesh, was a symbol.
The same sigil from Crowne's book.
Ezra's fingers curled into a fist.
The Ministry had told him to walk away. But now, a man was dead.
And someone—something—wanted him to see it.