The moment the phone in the booth rang, the wind shifted again.
It wasn't just in the plaza or around them.
But everywhere.
The Grimoire at Lucian's hip flared.
When no one answered the phone in the booth, something else did.
It was invisible at first. There was pressure, like an ancient god looking down on you from above. It was impossible to place.
And then, in the middle of the spiral street, a tree bloomed in fast motion. Bark curled outward and silver thread unfurled from its branches like ribbons.
Inside the bark, something fell out.
A book bound in living bark.
The cover title was older than language, and its spine was threaded with sinew.
The pages smelled of pressed herbs and church candles.
It hovered in the air and opened its cover slowly, revealing no title—just a symbol:
The Crown of Knots.
Lucian's Grimoire flashed red and hissed.
Literally hissed.
The ink inside twisted, rejecting something.
Then it snapped shut.
