冷风直往脖子里钻，兰der缩着脖子往巷子里钻。刚拐过那个没亮灯的弯，头顶“噗啦”一下。

砸的是兰der脑袋。

“哎哟我操！”兰der抱头，感觉后脑勺像被雉子扎了似的。抬头一看，一个破本子糊他脸上来了。

不是刚才兜里那本！

这玩意儿更破，边角都卷起来了，封面颜色暗沉得跟吸了墨水似的。兰der懵了，伸手想抠下来，手刚碰到，那本子突然自己弹开了。

“哗啦”一声，里面掉出来一张纸。

兰der捡起来，借着远处路灯那点昏光扫了一眼。纸上画着个歪歪扭扭的符号，下面写着几个小字：契约印记。

“契约你妈的印记！”兰der curses under his breath, rubbing his head. The paper crackled in his hand—parchment, old and brittle. He remembered where he’d seen fragments before: in the ancient library’s archives, crumbling to dust on forgotten tomes. This wasn’t just old. This was… ancient.

“Hold on,” he muttered, holding the paper against the damp brick wall like a talisman. The air around them seemed to still, the wind’s fury momentarily hushed. A faint shimmer, almost imperceptible, flickered around the symbol.

Then gone.

The chill returned. Maybe it was just his imagination. Or maybe the storm was getting worse. He couldn’t tell, had to keep moving. Two more hours of digging ditches on some rich folks' backlot, and the decent folks would dish out the soup. He’d earned it.