Morning came late to Grayharbor. The fog lingered long after dawn, and the gas lamps burned as though the night had refused to leave.
Elias sat hunched at his desk in the attic, fingers wrapped tight around a cold mug of tea he had forgotten to drink. His hand still bore the faint glowing cuts from the shattered vial, now faded to thin scars. Every so often, when he blinked, the afterimage of the cracked moons flickered across his vision.
The whisper was quieter now, but it never left. It had become a rhythm beneath his thoughts, a second pulse.
Kaelith.
A knock rattled the door. Elias started, nearly spilling the mug.
Mrs. Penwick's voice called from the stairwell. "Mr. Graye, you've a visitor."
His stomach sank.
The door creaked open, and the same blandly dressed Bureau officer stepped inside—the one with the courteous smile and the sharp eyes. He removed his hat and inclined his head.
"Good morning, Mr. Graye. I trust you slept well?"
Elias forced a thin smile. "Well enough."
The officer's gaze flicked to the desk, where the Gazette lay open. "I imagine you've seen today's edition. The Bureau has formally concluded its investigation into the dock accident. Case closed."
"Efficient," Elias said, too quickly.
The officer's lips twitched. "We do our best to keep the city orderly. Disorder breeds… dangerous imaginations."
He paced the small room, gloved fingers trailing over Elias's books. He paused at a worn astronomy chart pinned to the wall—the phases of the moons. His eyes lingered on the crude pencil markings Elias had added, noting irregularities.
"Curious work," the officer murmured. "Most men are content to watch the skies without questioning them."
Elias swallowed hard. "I chart patterns. That is all."
The officer turned, smile polite, gaze cutting. "See that it remains so."
He replaced his hat, tipped it, and left as suddenly as he had arrived. The boardinghouse door slammed below.
Elias released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His pulse hammered. The cuts on his palm throbbed faintly, glowing for the barest instant before fading.
He slumped into his chair, but the reprieve was brief. A shadow darkened the window. Elias jerked his head up.
Across the street, half-hidden in the fog, a man stood with a newspaper under his arm. He wasn't reading. He wasn't moving. He was watching.
Elias yanked the curtains shut.
The whisper rose louder in his skull, almost triumphant. His hands shook as he fumbled for his notebook, scribbling furiously, but the words were no longer his own. The quill scratched across the page, carving jagged symbols he didn't understand. Circles within circles. Moons cracking. Eyes opening where they should not be.
When his hand finally stilled, he stared at the page in horror. The symbols writhed faintly, shifting if he looked too long.
A new knock startled him. Lighter this time. Hesitant.
He opened the door to find Samuel, the grocer's son, slate under his arm. The boy's cheeks were flushed from the cold.
"Mister Graye, my sums—" He broke off, tilting his head. His gaze fell on Elias's hand, the faint scars glowing just beneath the skin.
"Your hand," Samuel whispered. His pupils dilated. His lips parted. And then, softly, he repeated the word.
"Kaelith."
The sound sent a shiver racing down Elias's spine. The boy blinked, startled, as though waking from a dream.
"What did I say?" Samuel asked.
Elias forced a laugh that rang hollow. "Nothing you need to remember."
But the boy's innocent gaze only deepened the dread curling in Elias's gut. The whisper was spreading.
And the Bureau was already watching.