Aeron walked through the morning fog. A mixture of the city’s lesser appetising smells like coal fumes and exhaust battled with the smell of evaporating dew; warm street food and coffee. Vendors at makeshift stalls yelled out deals for fresh bread, while a newsboy waved the front page in front of his face: "Mayor Dubbles Down on Gamblingdens and Blind Pigs! Multiple Night Arrests".

Aeron navigated through crowds of people rushing to a myriad of destinations. At his regular to-go window the owner, a friendly elm-blond Dryad, handed him a steaming cup of coffee.

“Heading to the museum, Professor?” Fteliá, the dryad, asked. The sound of its voice was warm against the morning chill.

“Yes, and the hour probably will grow late, so do you mind throwing a couple extra of those bagels in that bag Fteliá?”

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As Aeron put the bag of bagels in his briefcase, he caught himself checking on the book again. It was still there. It had been occupying his mind since Seamus had given it to him. It’s just another relic, he reminded himself. Nothing new for you. He tried not to think about the book, or the events of the night before and focused on the bustling city around him. A trolley rattled down the street, the sounds of people climbing the stairs to the Art Nouveau office buildings mixing with the clang of workers repairing a broken streetlamp. Life went on. The museum, his afternoon lecture, and his daily routines would be waiting for him like clockwork.

As he rounded the corner between Bakers and 10th the museum came into view. In front of it police cars were parked at odd angles, sirens flashing. Officers were posted at the doors, barring entry. He noticed a few of his colleagues gathered to one side, talking among themselves.

“Well, this will be interesting,” he said to himself. He hastened his stride, grip tightening on his suitcase, well aware of the book inside.