Will held out the heavy, necrotic weight of the Grimoire.
It didn't look like something forged in a high-tech corporate lab. There were no carbon-weave fibers or blinking biometric latches. Instead, the book was bound in a hide that looked like petrified grey skin, stretched thin over jagged slabs of what might have been bone. It felt impossibly old, radiating a steady, necrotic hum that seemed to pull the warmth right out of the air. P.A.C.I.F.I.C. hadn't built this; they had unearthed it from some forgotten, nameless corner of the deep crust, bringing a piece of the world's ancient, rotting history back into the light.
Elizabeth took the heavy volume with her remaining hand. The skin of the cover felt cold and dry, like sun-bleached kelp.
"Open it, Elizabeth," Will said casually.
