Page 32 of Paws & Order

"Yeah."

His gaze stays fixed on the flower.

"Because none of this makes any sense."

CHAPTER 10

CASSIAN

I'm still standing in Liza's kitchen at 1:03 a.m., squinting at a glass-sharp blue tulip standing upright in a shot glass that wasn't here twenty minutes ago, and all I can think is: this fits.

The coin.

The copper spiral.

The etiquette of the gift.

Somebody is trying to be noticed from the other side, or through a hole in the wall of reality, or, hell, by virtue of very strange sleepwalking.

My money is on the first one.

Or close enough.

Liza's money is on "let's not call it yet," as if naming a thing cements it. We both know the minute I put words to it, the evidence will start getting weirder.

I photograph the scene and sketch the setup with my pen.

It might look like overkill, but I can tell Liza appreciates the compulsive neatness, the way it brings the moment down from the surreal to something almost workaday.

She hovers by the counter, cradling Gomez in the crook of her arm, watching me as if I'm about to interview the cheese danish.

"Did you ever see that show about the haunted bakery?" she asks, her voice too bright. "I'm just saying, the pastry delivery has precedent."

"The one with the spectral sourdough starter that gets passed down through three generations until the ghost shows up to claim her doughnut recipe? I did. I made a note to ban TV in the department for a week."

"Do you think it's safe to eat?"

She's joking, but she's also exactly the type to build a theory based on the aftertaste.

"We're not eating evidence," I say, tucking the tulip and the danish into separate evidence bags. "At least not until Enoch checks for hexes. Or arsenic. Or both."

She nods but looks disappointed, like she was hoping for a ghost breakfast.

She's always been the bravest person I know in the morning, when the rest of the world is wallowing in dread and caffeine jitters.

Liza Morales can face a parade permit disaster, a demon mayor's meltdown, or mysterious pastry with the same stubborn optimism.

I finish collecting my samples, wash my hands, and brace myself to deliver the news.

"We're going to City Hall tomorrow. Enoch says there's a development."

She snorts. "Let me guess. The handwriting matches a distant ancestor of someone on the Town Council. Or the coins are part of Zadok's historic bribes collection."

I almost smile.

Almost.

"Could be. But it's worth a trip. Enoch sounded... excited."