Ezra gripped the doorframe, his breath catching in his throat.
Dr. Alistair Crowne was supposed to be dead.
For two weeks, the man had been missing. Vanished without a trace. The Ministry had scrubbed his existence from the records. People had died for asking the wrong questions.
Yet here he was, standing in the dimly lit hallway, rainwater dripping from his coat, his lips curled in a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Ezra's fingers twitched toward his knife. "You—"
Crowne held up a hand. "Not here." His voice was calm, too calm. "They're listening."
Ezra's stomach tightened. The Ministry? Or something else?
His instincts screamed at him to slam the door. To demand answers. To do anything but let Crowne inside.
But Crowne had sent the letter. Crowne had been the reason this all started. If there were answers, they were standing right in front of him.
Ezra exhaled sharply, stepping aside. "You have two minutes."
Crowne stepped inside without hesitation, moving to the desk in long, deliberate strides. He glanced at The Hidden Laws, still open to the page that had revealed itself, and let out a quiet breath.
"You read it."
Ezra folded his arms. "I don't recall needing your permission."
Crowne chuckled, low and dry. 'No. But you need my help'
Ezra's eyes narrowed. "Help with what, exactly? Being hunted by men who erase the past? Seeing things in mirrors that shouldn't exist?" His voice edged toward anger. "Or maybe with the fact that people are dying, Crowne. Because of this." He jabbed a finger at the book.
Crowne's smile faded. "You think I don't know that?"
Ezra scoffed. "I think you're supposed to be dead."
Crowne studied him for a long moment. Then he reached into his coat and pulled out something small—a brass pocket watch.
He held it up. Let it catch the dim light.
Ezra frowned.
The hands of the watch weren't moving. They were spinning backward.
Faster and faster, the motion unnatural, fluid, endless.
Crowne snapped it shut. "I was dead, in a manner of speaking." He tucked the watch back into his coat. "But dead men don't smile, do they?"
Ezra didn't answer.
Crowne sighed. "Listen, Lockwood. I can explain everything. But not now. They are already moving."
Ezra felt the weight in those words. "The Ministry?"
Crowne's jaw tensed. "And worse."
A sharp knock slammed against the door.
Both men turned.
The knocks came again—calm, methodical, deliberate.
Three knocks.
A pause.
Then two more.
Ezra's blood ran cold.
The Ministry.
Crowne's fingers twitched toward his coat, where Ezra knew he kept a weapon.
A voice came from the other side of the door—smooth, professional, devoid of emotion.
'Mr. Lockwood.'
Ezra didn't need to open the door to know who it was.
The woman from the Ministry.
Her tone was unreadable. 'We know he's inside.'
Ezra's gaze flicked to Crowne. The professor's face remained impassive, but his fingers curled slightly, as if bracing for impact.
The woman spoke again, quieter this time.
"If you open this door, we can talk."
A pause.
"If you don't—we'll have to come in."
Ezra exhaled slowly.
His options were dwindling.
And no matter what choice he made—he wouldn't walk away unchanged.