The room was suffocatingly opulent. Gilded chandeliers hung like spider webs from the ceiling, their crystals catching and fracturing the lamplight into a thousand shards. Velvet drapes of deep crimson pooled on the marble floors, muffling footsteps and words alike. Laughter, brittle and hollow, floated through the air masked faces and painted smiles weaving through the masquerade.
Ash kept to the edges, mask secured and posture relaxed, but his eyes never stopped moving. The book, hidden beneath his coat, pulsed faintly against his side a heartbeat that wasn't his. It was both a warning and a reassurance, a reminder that he wasn't entirely defenseless.
But beneath the mask, Ash's jaw was tight, his breaths controlled. Anxiety coiled in his gut, sharp and unrelenting. The opulence of the room felt like a gilded cage, every exit guarded by eyes that saw too much and said too little.
Great, Ash thought dryly, forcing his fingers to unclench. My best ally is a potentially cursed book that might decide to eat my soul on a bad day. That's not ominous at all.
The whole affair was an elaborate farce. Nobles, merchants, scholars all pretended at sophistication, gliding through the hall with smiles so fake they might as well have been painted on. Power plays dressed in silks and jewels. Secrets exchanged behind feathered masks.
Ash's lips twisted beneath his mask. Is this what power looks like? A masquerade of liars too afraid to drop the act? The thought was bitter, edged with something darker. At least I know what I am.
Lyle's voice crackled through the hidden earpiece. "You're too quiet. Do you see him?"
"I see a lot of hims," Ash muttered, scanning the crowd. "Any chance you could narrow it down a bit?"
Ellen's sigh came through, dry and unamused. "Tall. Dark hair. No mask."
"That's half the people here," Ash snapped. But then his eyes caught on a figure near the far end of the hall a man standing perfectly still amidst the ebb and flow of the crowd. Dark hair. No mask. Pale eyes that seemed to see straight through the laughter and glitter.
Ash's breath hitched, a cold chill prickling down his spine. That gaze felt like it peeled back layers, stripped him down to bone and nerve. For a moment, he couldn't breathe.
Bingo, he thought, forcing the tension from his shoulders. Just what I needed.
As Ash moved closer, he noted the subtle shifts in the room the way conversations lulled when the man's gaze passed, the instinctive step back people took. Not fear, precisely. More like… deference. Or terror thinly veiled as respect.
"You're in possession of a rather unique artifact," Everett said, eyes glinting with faint amusement.
Ash shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but his palms were damp with sweat. "You'll have to be more specific. I collect all sorts of cursed things these days."
Everett's smile was thin. "Clever. But we both know which one I mean."
Ah, yes, the one that whispers eldritch secrets and occasionally bleeds ink, Ash thought bitterly. How could I forget?
But his heart was a drumbeat in his ears, every instinct screaming to turn and run. He forced himself to stay, mask secure, spine straight. You wanted answers, didn't you? he reminded himself. So act like it.
They moved to a quieter alcove, heavy curtains muffling the noise. Everett studied him with a calm intensity that set Ash's nerves on edge.
"You're in possession of a rather unique artifact," Everett said. "I imagine the Keepers have taken a keen interest in you."
"Just a bit," Ash replied, voice tight. "Maybe you can tell me why they're rewriting reality like bad novelists."
Everett's smile was thin. "To maintain order. Their order. History is a script they edit at will add a page here, erase a chapter there. The book you carry, however, wasn't written by them. Its origins precede their authority, which makes it… problematic."
Ash's fingers flexed around the book's spine, the leather warm and pulsing. He swallowed, throat tight. So not just a haunted diary it's a politically inconvenient haunted diary.
"How do I know you're not lying?" he asked, voice steadier than he felt.
Everett's eyes glinted. "You don't."
As Everett explained, Ash felt the weight of the situation settle like iron in his gut. The Keepers' control wasn't just censorship it was dominion. Their network of agents and informants extended into every facet of society: scholars, magistrates, merchants. A hierarchy built on erased memories and rewritten truths.
A shiver crawled down Ash's spine. How much of my life is real? he wondered, throat constricting. My parents' deaths, my memories how much did they edit?
The thought burned, cold and consuming. Ash clenched his fists, nails biting into palms. If the Keepers could alter history, then nothing he knew was certain.
"To access the book's true potential, you'll need a translator," Everett said. "The language it's written in isn't one you'll find in any archive. It's… esoteric."
Ash's eyes narrowed. "And you just happen to know someone?"
A wry smile. "A colleague. Though convincing them will be another matter."
Of course, Ash thought, grinding his teeth. Because nothing can ever be simple.
They moved fast, cutting through back halls and hidden passages. Everett led, his steps unerring despite the maze-like corridors. Shadows seemed to stretch and warp, whispering in a language Ash couldn't place but felt at the edges of his mind.
"Is this place cursed?" Ash bit out, nerves fraying.
"Not cursed," Everett replied, unbothered. "Just… haunted."
Ash's laugh was short and humorless. "Of course it is. Why not?"
This is insane, Ash thought, running a hand through his hair. Aligning with a man I just met to take down a secret society that can rewrite reality. Absolutely deranged. I should walk away.
But he didn't. Because beneath the sarcasm and the rationalizations was a gnawing hunger fueled by the lies, by the silence, by the utter lack of control he'd had for so long.
If the Keepers can rewrite reality, who's to say they didn't rewrite me? The thought was jagged, slicing through the cold numbness he clung to. If there's a way to tear down their lies, to expose the truth I have to take it.
Even if it killed him.
They moved quickly after that, maps and plans unfurled, targets and symbols marked in ink. The next step was clear: find the translator, unlock the book's secrets, and unravel the truth behind the Keepers' control.
But beneath the urgency, a darker thought twisted in Ash's mind cold and intrusive.
If the Keepers could rewrite reality, who was to say this wasn't another script? That Everett wasn't another page in a grander deception?
Paranoid, maybe. Or just paying attention.
Ash glanced at the book, its cover gleaming faintly in the candlelight. Whatever truths it held, he had to uncover them. If only to prove that his life was still his own.
But even as he turned to follow Everett, the whispers returned soft and insidious, threading through the silence.
And deep in the recesses of his mind, Ash couldn't shake the feeling that he was still being watched.