Elias could not stay in the attic. The walls pressed too tightly, the whisper too loud. Every shadow at the window felt like Bureau eyes. Every creak of the stair threatened discovery.
When the fog thickened that evening, he slipped out, coat collar raised, and walked with brisk, restless steps. His boots echoed on the wet cobbles. He carried no lantern.
The streets bled into one another until the crooked sign of The Lamplighter's Rest emerged from the mist, its paint peeling, its windows glowing faintly yellow. He pushed the door open.
Inside, pipe smoke curled under the low rafters. The tavern smelled of stale ale and burnt oil. Lamplighters in soot-stained coats leaned at tables, voices low, their eyes darting toward the newcomer before looking quickly away.
Elias ordered a drink he did not taste and sat near the back, his ears pricked.
It did not take long. From a table near the hearth came the hushed tone of conspiracy.
"…another shard moved to the Archive…"
"…always under guard. Not even the Archivists touch them without sanction…"
"…but the moons—"
The speaker broke off when his companion raised a warning glance toward Elias. The room quieted a fraction. Elias stared into his cup, pretending deafness.
A chair scraped. Someone sat opposite him.
She removed her hood. The same woman from the clocktower. Her braid gleamed darkly in the dim light.
"You came," she said, voice low.
"I had little choice," Elias murmured.
"There is always choice." She studied him with unnerving calm. "But few choose to remember."
Her gaze flicked to his hand. The faint scars still glowed beneath the skin, pulsing faintly in time with the whisper.
"You carry it well," she said.
"I don't feel well," Elias admitted. His fingers clenched around the mug. "It… speaks. Even when I wish it silent."
"That is its nature. A shard does not give. It consumes, until it finds one who can bear it."
"And if I cannot?"
Her lips curved faintly. "Then you will vanish into the Archive, like all the others."
The tavern door banged open. Cold fog spilled in, followed by two men in Bureau coats. Conversations faltered. The lamplighters kept their heads down.
The woman's eyes did not move from Elias. "We are already hunted. Decide quickly—do you stand with us, or wait for them?"
The Bureau men scanned the room. One's gaze lingered on Elias, suspicion tightening his jaw.
The whisper surged inside Elias's skull, drowning thought. His heart hammered, sweat prickling his palms.
The woman slid something across the table beneath her sleeve—a scrap of parchment, folded tight.
"Burn this. Then follow the ashes," she said, voice barely audible over the murmur of the tavern.
The Bureau officer began walking toward their table.
Elias snatched the parchment, shoved it into his pocket, and drained his mug in a single swallow. His legs shook as he stood.
The officer's eyes narrowed. "Your name?"
Elias forced a smile that trembled at the edges. "A lamplighter, like the rest. Nothing more."
He moved past, the whisper roaring in his ears, the woman's steady gaze burning between his shoulder blades.
The fog outside swallowed him whole.