The corpse's empty eye sockets seemed to stare at Ezra.
The sigil carved into the dead man's chest was identical to the one on The Hidden Laws—the same twisting, interwoven shape, like an ouroboros consuming itself. It was no coincidence.
Ezra swallowed, glancing at Finch. The younger reporter looked pale, his fingers twitching near his glasses as if resisting the urge to adjust them.
"Who was he?" Ezra asked.
Finch shook his head. "The police don't know. No identification, no personal effects. But the coroner estimates he died three days ago."
Ezra frowned. "Then how was he found in the river this morning?"
Finch hesitated.
"They say the body wasn't there before. That it just… appeared."
Ezra exhaled slowly. Another impossible thing. Another puzzle piece that didn't fit.
The Ministry had already erased Crowne's disappearance from the records. Would they erase this man next?
Ezra turned back to the corpse. The unnatural smoothness where the eyes should have been, the blackened veins pulsing beneath the skin—what had done this?
Finch shifted uneasily. "Lockwood, this is bad. I mean—really bad. The Tribune won't print anything without police confirmation, and the Ministry's already sniffing around."
Ezra's jaw tightened. "Then we find answers before they bury it."
Finch hesitated. "How?"
Ezra pulled the cloth back over the corpse. "Crowne was investigating something before he vanished. We retrace his steps."
Finch gave him a skeptical look. "And where exactly do we start?"
Ezra didn't hesitate.
"The university library."
Eldenwald University – Restricted Archives
The air inside the library was thick with dust and the scent of old paper. The towering bookshelves cast long shadows in the dim afternoon light, stretching like ribs beneath the arched ceiling.
Ezra moved quickly past the students and scholars in the main hall, heading straight for the back of the building—the private archives.
Dr. Alistair Crowne had been a senior scholar here. If he had been researching something dangerous, then someone—someone who had worked with him—would know more.
Which meant Ezra needed to find Hugo Bellamy.
The university's head librarian had worked in the archives for thirty years. If Crowne had accessed forbidden books, Bellamy would have seen them.
Ezra reached the door to the restricted archives, knocking sharply.
Silence.
He knocked again. "Bellamy?"
Nothing.
Ezra's gut twisted. He tested the door. It was unlocked.
Slowly, he pushed it open.
The smell hit him first.
The thick, cloying scent of rotting paper and something else—something metallic.
Ezra stepped inside. The room was dim, the curtains drawn, the only light spilling from a desk lamp flickering at the far end of the chamber.
And there, slumped over the desk, was Hugo Bellamy.
Ezra's breath caught.
The librarian wasn't moving. His face was pressed against an open book, his thin hands slack at his sides. At first, Ezra thought he was sleeping.
Then he saw the blood.
A thin rivulet of red seeped from Bellamy's nose, staining the pages beneath him. His glasses were shattered, fragments glinting in the low light.
Ezra took a cautious step forward. "Bellamy?"
No response.
Ezra reached out, hesitating for only a moment before nudging the man's shoulder.
Bellamy's body slumped sideways.
Ezra's stomach twisted. His eyes were gone.
Not gouged out. Not wounded.
Simply erased.
Like the corpse at the morgue.
Ezra staggered back, heart hammering. His gaze darted to the book Bellamy had been reading.
It was written in Crowne's own handwriting.
And scrawled across the margins, over and over in shaking ink, was a single phrase:
"They are looking at me."
A shiver crawled down Ezra's spine.
Then—
A floorboard creaked behind him.
Ezra turned sharply—but there was no one there.
Only the shadows.
Stretching just a little too far.
Watching.