The morning after their strange journey into the space inside the locket, the world outside felt painfully ordinary.

  Riya stirred sugar into her tea at the kitchen table, her bare feet curled against the cold linoleum. The heater ticked quietly in the background. Elias sat across from her, still wrapped in the same hoodie he’d slept in, a cautious warmth in his eyes.

  They hadn’t spoken much when they returned — just enough. It was enough.

  But the silence now wasn’t heavy. Just thoughtful.

  Riya sipped her tea and looked at him over the rim of the mug. “I don’t think this is something we can solve alone.”

  Elias gave a slow nod, his hands curled around his own mug.

  “We need help,” she said.

  “I know.”

  He paused, setting his tea aside. “There’s a guy I used to know. Folklore researcher, a bit out there, but smart. He might know someone. Or know someone who knows someone.”

  “You trust him?”

  “Not really, but I won’t be giving him my life story either.”

  Riya gave a tired half-smile. “That’s something.”

  Riya flipped through the battered notebook Elias had pulled from his bag — one of the few things they’d managed to recover from his old apartment. Its pages were creased and uneven, cluttered with half-legible research notes, citation fragments, and a few scribbled names and phone numbers.

  He pointed to one. “Anthony Corso. Ex-colleague. Researcher in comparative folklore — fringe stuff, but smart. If anyone knows someone who could help us quietly, he will.”

  Riya frowned. “You don’t have a phone.”

  “No. And I don’t want to use yours.”

  They exchanged a glance — neither of them said a word, but it was there between them anyway: traceable.

  “I’ll pick up a prepaid,” Riya said. “Unregistered. Cheap.”

  Elias nodded. “Keep it off when we’re not using it.”

  They made the call later that afternoon, seated at the kitchen table with the new phone resting between them.

  Elias dialled the number with practised calm. Riya sat beside him, arms crossed, watching the window.

  “Anthony. Hey — yeah, it’s me.”

  A beat passed, and Elias smiled faintly. “I know. Been a while.”

  He shifted tone slightly — more casual. “I’m looking for someone with a background in obscure material culture. Preferably, ritual artefacts, regional object symbology. Quiet operators — not academic bureaucrats.”

  Riya could hear Anthony’s muffled voice on the other end, questioning.

  “No, nothing formal. Something I came across. Thought I’d follow up.”

  He let a pause stretch.

  “Not asking for names over the line. Just… if someone comes to mind, you know how to reach me.”

  He ended the call a few minutes later and set the phone down.

  “He’s going to make a few calls.”

  “That’s it?”

  “I didn’t want to push. The less he knows, the better.”

  Riya nodded. “Let’s hope whoever bites knows what they’re walking into.”

  Three days later, Elias’s phone buzzed. He answered it with the speed of someone hoping for a distraction.

  “Anthony? Yeah — you heard something?”

  A pause.

  “Dr. A. Marlowe. Right. Never heard of her… Occult object history, private consultancy, based in Fitzroy?”

  He scribbled the name on the back of a catalogue envelope, nodding slowly as Anthony continued.

  “Okay. Thanks. Send me the details.”

  He hung up and turned to Riya. “He found someone. Well, one of his contacts found someone. Marlowe. She deals in exactly the kind of object we’re dealing with — apparently quiet, reputable, knows how to keep things off the books.”

  Riya crossed her arms. “And just happens to live twenty minutes from here.”

  “I know. It’s… convenient.”

  “But we’ve run out of better ideas.”

  Elias couldn’t disagree.

  The address led them to a narrow stairwell above a row of sleepy shopfronts. A polished brass plaque on the door read:

  Dr. A. Marlowe

  Historical Consultancy & Occult Symbology

  By Appointment Only

  Riya stood at the top of the stairs, her fingers brushing the cool metal of the locket through her shirt. Still there. Always there.

  The door opened almost as soon as Riya knocked.

  “Ms. Lennox?” the woman asked, her voice warm but restrained. She looked to be in her late thirties, composed and soft-spoken, with iron-grey hair swept into a loose twist and fine lines at the corners of her eyes that made her seem perceptive, not tired.

  “I’m Dr. Marlowe — Anneliese, if you prefer. Please, come in.”

  Riya stepped into a narrow hallway that smelled faintly of beeswax and paper. The space beyond was warmly lit, lined with full shelves, rolled textiles, and small carved things that looked older than the building itself. It felt more like a collector’s study than an office.

  “Can I get you anything?” Anneliese asked. “Tea? Water?”

  “No. I’m fine.” Riya glanced around. “You work out of here?”

  “Mostly. It keeps things quiet.” She gestured to a chair across from her desk. “Anthony said you were looking for someone discreet — for something unusual. That’s typically where I come in.”

  Riya sat slowly. “He didn’t tell you much, did he?”

  Anneliese gave a soft, knowing smile. “Only that you’d encountered an object with... concerning qualities. And that you were reluctant to discuss it over the phone.” She tilted her head. “That’s more than enough to go on.”

  Riya hesitated. “I don’t know how much I should say.”

  “You don’t need to say anything you’re not ready for.” Anneliese folded her hands. “But if something has come into your possession — and it’s not behaving like it should — I might be able to offer some context. Or at the very least, a starting point.”

  Riya exhaled slowly. “It’s a piece of jewellery. A locket. I didn’t buy it. Didn’t even want it. But I’ve had it ever since… something happened.”

  “And it won’t come off?” Anneliese asked gently.

  “No, it comes off easily enough, but then… it comes back.” Riya’s voice dropped. “Not right away. But always.”

  She glanced up, unsure why she’d said that much. But Anneliese only nodded, calm and attentive.

  “That’s not unheard of,” she said. “Certain ritual objects have… persistence. Especially those that have been used as vessels.”

  Riya frowned. “Vessels?”

  “For intention. Will. Sometimes energy. Sometimes… things more complex.”

  A beat passed. Riya could feel the weight of the locket against her skin, even though it was tucked beneath her shirt.

  “There’s something in it, isn’t there?” she said, quietly.

  “I wouldn’t presume,” Anneliese said carefully. “But from what you’ve described, it’s possible the object has formed a bond with you — one that’s not simply symbolic. These links can manifest physically. Emotionally. Even spatially.”

  That word stuck in Riya’s mind. Spatially. Like the way Elias…

  She swallowed hard. “What happens if I just keep it?”

  “That depends on the object,” Anneliese said. “Some fade. Some deepen. Most don’t like to be ignored.” She leaned back slightly, her tone softening further. “You’ve been carrying it alone for how long?”

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  “Not long,” Riya replied.

  “You look like someone who hasn’t had a proper night’s sleep in weeks.” Anneliese’s smile was kind, not condescending. “Believe me, I’ve seen that look before.”

  Riya shifted. “What are you offering, exactly?”

  “Perspective,” Anneliese said. “And time. If you leave me with a few details — even vague ones — I can start digging. I have access to materials that aren’t online. Collections that very few people know exist. If this locket has a precedent, I’ll find it.”

  Riya stood, the motion too quick. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Of course. No pressure.” Anneliese rose with her, her voice still even. “But know this: things like this… they don’t always want to be understood. But they want something. And eventually, they take it.”

  That made Riya pause.

  Anneliese smiled again — not triumphant, but calm. Reassuring.

  “If it becomes too much,” she said gently, “you don’t have to carry it alone.”

  Riya left the office unsettled.

  It wasn’t what Anneliese had said — it was what she hadn’t. The ease of it. The calm confidence.

  And yet, some part of Riya had needed to hear someone else say it aloud: It’s real. It’s rare. You’re not crazy.

  And that made it harder to turn away.

  Camilla closed the office door with quiet finality, letting her illusion drop, appearing once again as her true self.

  She removed her gloves, set them down on the polished desk, and walked to the side table where a worn codex lay open. A sigil glowed faintly beneath a pane of glass. She whispered once and tapped the symbol, muting it.

  She returned to her desk and picked up a photograph — grainy, long-lens, black and white. Riya in profile. The locket catching the light.

  After what she considered long enough, she smiled without teeth and picked up the phone.

  “Riya? Dr. Marlowe here. “I've done some initial research. Some stories of objects with similar provenance. I even have a drawing of one. I'm going to need some more details for further digging, though. Are you free Thursday afternoon? Great, we can meet at a nice little coffee place I’m partial to, not far from here. I’ll send you the details.”

  She hung up with a wicked grin on her face.

  Then she lit a taper, passed it once over the sigil, and murmured in a tongue that had not been heard aloud in a generation.

  “One more step.”

  The tram ride home passed in a blur of brake squeals, grey concrete, and half-heard conversations. Riya kept one hand curled over the locket through her coat the entire way — not hiding it, exactly, just holding it still. Like a lid on something warm.

  By the time she reached the house, her shoulders were tight again. She closed the door behind her and stood still for a moment in the quiet.

  She slid her hand beneath her collar and pressed the emblem of the locket.

  It hit like a small detonation — a blast of dust and smoke that tore outward from the locket with a dry, concussive burst. The hallway filled in an instant, particles spinning and catching in the light like firelit ash.

  Everything hung still.

  The cloud held for a breathless moment — frozen — then collapsed violently inward, drawn into a narrow vortex that snapped into the shape of a man.

  Elias caught himself on one knee, then stood, steadying his breath.

  “You’re back,” he said, already watching her.

  Riya took off her boots and dropped her bag. “Yeah.”

  He didn’t ask how it went. He waited, as he always did.

  She lowered herself onto the couch, one hand rubbing the tension out of her neck. “She was... good.”

  Elias sat on the floor nearby, cross-legged, hands resting lightly on his knees.

  “Helpful?” he asked.

  “Maybe. She didn’t push. Let me steer it. Said she’d seen similar things before. Not this, but close enough to act like it wasn’t new.”

  “Did you tell her everything?”

  “No. Just that it’s a locket, that it won’t come off unless I want it to, and even then, it comes back. I didn’t say a word about you.”

  He gave a small nod. “Good.”

  “She said she’d go digging — older texts, obscure collections. Stuff not available publicly.”

  Elias tilted his head, brows pulling slightly. “She didn’t ask to see it?”

  “No. Which made me nervous. That’s what I expected her to do first.”

  “I guess she doesn't want to spook you,” Elias said. “Being trustworthy is an asset in our business.”

  Riya hesitated. Then: “She said I didn’t have to carry it alone.”

  She regretted saying it the moment it left her lips, but Elias only looked at her, thoughtful. Not hurt. Not yet.

  “I wouldn’t give it to her,” he said.

  “I’m not planning to.”

  “But you’re thinking about it.”

  Riya looked away. “I’m thinking about what it means if I keep it.”

  They sat in silence for a moment before she asked, “What’s it like? In there?”

  He blinked once, slowly. “Quiet.”

  “And before?”

  “Before today? Empty. Unconscious. Like closing a door and not knowing if it ever opens again.”

  Riya’s fingers curled over the locket through her shirt.

  “But this time,” Elias continued, “I stayed awake.”

  She looked at him sharply.

  “I wasn’t sure I could. But I focused, and… I managed to make something. A kind of window. A sliver, really. I could see out.”

  “See me?”

  “When the locket wasn’t covered. I caught glimpses. Light, shapes. I saw you on the tram.”

  Riya sat back slightly, unsettled, unsure why.

  “How long can you stay conscious now?”

  “I don’t know,” Elias said. “It’s… new. Before, I think the bindings wouldn’t let me. Or maybe I wasn’t strong enough. But something’s shifting.”

  She didn’t speak for a moment.

  “You’re changing.”

  “I think I have to.”

  Riya looked at him — really looked — and for just a moment, didn’t see the man who’d once been tied to a ritual floor. She saw something more solid trying to take shape again.

  The phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.

  Riya crossed the room and checked the screen. The burner. Unknown number.

  She flipped it open. “Hello?”

  “Riya? Dr. Marlowe here.” The voice was warm, familiar now. “I've done some initial research. Some stories of objects with similar provenance. I even have a drawing of one. I'm going to need some more details for further digging, though. Are you free Thursday afternoon?”

  Riya paused, glancing toward Elias. A beat of hesitation. Then, quietly: “Yeah. I can do Thursday.”

  “Great,” Anneliese said, almost cheerful. “Can we meet at a nice little coffee place I’m partial to, not far from here? I’ll send you the details.”

  The call ended quickly after that — polite, clean, professional.

  Riya lowered the phone and stared at it for a moment.

  “She has some information,” she said aloud. “Wants to meet on Thursday. Public place.”

  Elias didn’t move. “That was fast.”

  “She sounded casual. Like it wasn’t urgent.”

  “She wants you comfortable,” he said. “But best to stay on your guard.”

  Riya didn’t answer right away. “I think I’m going to go.”

  Elias gave a faint nod. “Please be careful.”

  The café was one of those tucked-away spots that tried very hard not to be noticed. Brick interior, all muted greys and reclaimed wood, the faint smell of cinnamon clinging to the air like a seasonal afterthought. It was quiet enough for a conversation, but not empty — enough customers to feel safe, not enough to be overheard.

  Riya spotted Dr. Marlowe at a window table, nursing something too pale to be coffee. She looked the same as before — composed, thoughtful, the kind of person who would always look like she belonged somewhere, no matter where she sat.

  “Riya,” she said warmly, rising halfway from her seat. “Thank you for meeting me.”

  Riya slid into the chair opposite, nodding. “You picked a good spot.”

  Anneliese smiled. “It’s a little halfway place I’ve used for years. People talk more easily over tea, I find.”

  A waitress appeared, and Riya ordered a flat white, the kind of ordinary comfort that required no thought, only the reassurance of something familiar.

  “I spent some time with a few lesser-known folios,” Anneliese began, drawing a neat leather-bound notebook from her bag. “Not everything’s digitised — especially not the more... speculative collections.”

  She flipped it open and turned the pages toward Riya, revealing a sketched diagram: a rough circle, bound in symbols, with a stylised eye at the centre. Not a locket exactly, but close enough.

  “This image came from a German pamphlet, circa 1890 — private print. The author describes ‘object-binding vessels’ designed to house spirits between summonings. Most of it's metaphor. Superstition. But some of the language... it resonates.”

  “With what?” Riya asked.

  Anneliese tilted her head. “With how you described your locket. The compulsion to return. The resistance to removal. These are old tropes, yes, but also consistent across stories that had no reason to match.”

  Riya stared at the sketch. “You think mine’s the same?”

  “I think yours is part of something old. And intentionally designed.”

  She let that settle.

  “I’m not saying it’s cursed,” Anneliese added with a wry smile. “But these kinds of objects don’t come into people’s lives by chance. There’s usually a moment of violence. Or intent. Or inheritance.”

  Riya said nothing.

  Anneliese didn’t push.

  Instead, she tapped the notebook gently. “If you’re willing, I’d like to do a closer inspection of the locket. Not now. But later. On your terms.”

  Riya raised an eyebrow. “You want to study it?”

  “I will likely need to,” Anneliese said, folding the notebook shut. “But carefully. Some objects react to handling. Some even react to observation.”

  That made Riya pause.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Of course.” Anneliese leaned back. “I want to help, Riya. But more than that — I want you to feel like you still have a choice. These things can take that away, slowly.”

  Dr. Marlowe’s eyes flicked briefly to Riya’s neck, a flash of something unreadable crossing her face. She hesitated for a moment before speaking again, her tone gentle, but with an edge of quiet insistence.

  “If you’re comfortable with it,” she said, her gaze returning to Riya’s, “may I see the locket? Carefully mind you...”

  She didn’t reach for it, but there was a quiet request in her voice. She was studying Riya carefully now, watching her every shift, the unspoken tension thick between them.

  “Not to take it, of course,” Anneliese added quickly, her hands resting on the table, open and unthreatening. “Just to see it, up close. Sometimes it’s the smallest detail that speaks the loudest.”

  Riya’s fingers instinctively brushed the locket under her shirt, the familiar weight a silent reminder. She didn’t move to take it out right away, but she could feel Anneliese’s gaze waiting. The air felt thick with a thousand unasked questions.

  Dr. Marlowe paused, her eyes flicking to the locket around Riya’s neck, as she revealed it. “If I may…” She didn’t wait for an answer, just leaned slightly forward, her gaze intent. The faint glint of the locket caught in the light, and for a moment, the space between them seemed to thicken. There was no direct touch, no movement, but Riya felt it — the subtle shift in Anneliese’s posture, the way her fingers twitched as if to reach but didn’t. She studied the locket as one might study an unfamiliar symbol — drawn in, cautious, but intent on understanding.

  “It’s not often I come across something like this,” Anneliese continued quietly, her voice a touch deeper now, as though considering something long buried. “Even from here, I can see the resonance. It’s subtle, but it’s there.”

  Riya’s fingers tightened around the cup in her hands, but she said nothing, letting the silence stretch out until Anneliese leaned back again, her gaze lingering on the locket one moment longer before she spoke again.

  "Thank you, Riya. That was most helpful." She leaned back thoughtfully. "I think it will help focus my research."

  The coffee arrived, and Riya wrapped her hands around the cup, needing the warmth more than the caffeine.

  “You said there was a drawing,” Riya said, leaning forward slightly. “But is there anything specific? Any name? Any case that matches?”

  Anneliese paused, her expression thoughtful as she pulled a folded sheet of paper from her bag. She slid it across the table to Riya. The image was a rough sketch — an intricate symbol with looping curves, not unlike the one she had described in relation to her locket. The lines were faint but deliberate, drawn with care.

  “This came from my initial research,” Anneliese said quietly, her voice measured. “It’s from a case I came across, buried in old archives. The symbol isn’t the same as your locket, but it’s close. It’s tied to the idea of object-binding — something that houses and contains, like a vessel.”

  Riya studied the drawing, her fingers brushing the edge of the paper. The symbol seemed slightly familiar, unsettling. “This does appear similar to the sigils on the locket.”

  “Exactly,” Anneliese said. “But there’s more. I haven’t finished tracing the connections yet. Patterns are forming, but we’re not there yet. If we keep following the threads, they’ll lead somewhere. But for now, this is the closest thing I’ve found to a match.”

  Riya nodded once, then stood. “Thank you, Anneliese. I’ll be in touch.”

  Anneliese stood with her, gathering her notebook. “There’s one more thing, actually — something that came up while I was cross-referencing older cases.”

  Riya paused.

  “In certain accounts,” Anneliese said lightly, like she wasn’t sure it even mattered, “objects like yours don’t always stay with their first bearer. Sometimes… they move.”

  “Move?”

  Anneliese smiled faintly. “Passed on. Gifted, in a sense. Not always intentionally. Sometimes they’re given away. Sometimes... the object chooses a new bearer.”

  Riya didn’t respond, but something in her tightened.

  “It doesn’t always work, of course,” Anneliese went on, folding her coat over her arm. “But in rare cases — particularly with bound vessels — transfer has been recorded. Usually under conditions of stress. Or sacrifice.”

  Riya watched her. “And what happens to the person who gives it up?”

  Marlowe met her eyes with professional calm. “Sometimes they’re freed. Sometimes... not entirely. It depends on the nature of the bond.”

  Riya nodded, once, slowly. “Right.”

  “I thought you might want to know,” Anneliese added, as if it were nothing. “Just in case that door ever opens.”