Ezra forced his breathing to steady.
The whisper had been right next to himtoo close. Yet the street remained empty, the city still wrapped in its unnatural silence.
He turned slowly, scanning the narrow alleys, the windows of the buildings towering over him. Nothing moved.
But that didnt mean nothing was there.
His grip on The Hidden Laws tightened. The books weight felt different nowheavier, charged. The First Law had revealed itself, and with it, a truth that made his skin crawl.
"Reality is consensus."
Ezras mind ran through the implications.
What happens when enough people forget a person?
What happens when a name is erased from every record?
What happens when the world simply stops acknowledging you?
His stomach twisted. You disappear.
Had that happened to Crowne?
Or worsewas it happening to Ezra now?
He needed to move. Needed to get off the open street, out of sight. If the Ministry had rewritten Crowne out of existence, they could do it to him too.
Ezra turned down a side alley, keeping his steps careful, precise. The further he walked, the more disjointed the city felt. Buildings looked the same, but off. Signs were blank. Shops had doors, but no names. Familiar streets led to places that shouldnt exist.
The further he went, the less real everything felt.
He slowed. The hairs on his arms prickled.
Something was wrong.
Ezra turned, retracing his steps.
But the alley behind himwasnt the same one he had walked through.
The path he had come from was gone.
His pulse didnt spike. Years of instinct kicked inpanic wouldnt help. He needed information. A way out.
A street sign hung above him, rusted, barely legible. Ezra squinted at it.
Whitmore Street.
His stomach dropped. That was his own street.
But this wasnt Whitmore.
The air around him felt different now.
Not colder. Not heavier. Just less.
Like the world here was thinner. Like he had stepped into a place that wasnt fully formed.
Then
A flicker of movement at the edge of his vision.
Ezra stilled.
Slowly, carefully, he turned his head.
At the far end of the alley, a man stood beneath a flickering gaslight.
Still. Motionless.
Watching.
Ezras grip on his knife tightened. "Who are you?"
The man did not answer.
The light above him flickered again.
And
He was closer.
Ezras chest tightened. He had not seen the man move. There had been no footsteps, no shift in space.
But the distance between them was now halved.
The light flickered.
Closer.
A trick of the eyes. A distortion of space.
Ezra stepped backward, slow and measured. "I wont ask again."
The man tilted his head. Just slightly.
Then
The gaslight went out.
The alley plunged into darkness.
Ezra moved. Fast. He turned sharply, bolting toward the only opening he could see. His boots barely made a sound against the damp cobblestone, his breath controlled, precise.
The street aheadnot Whitmore. Not any place he recognized. But there was a door.
Unlocked.
Ezra didnt hesitate.
He wrenched it open, stepped inside, and shut it behind him.
Silence.
He exhaled, pressing his back against the door. The space around him was dim, filled with the scent of old wood and dust.
Then
A voice.
Not behind him.
Inside the room.
"You shouldnt have come here, Mr. Lockwood."
Ezras fingers twitched toward his knife.
And then, in the faint candlelight
He saw the man sitting at the desk.
Not the one from the alley.
Someone else.
Someone he had seen in missing persons reports.
Someone who shouldnt exist anymore.
Dr. Alistair Crowne smiled.
And gestured for him to sit.