Kieran stood in the lab at four in the morning because Elysium had stopped breathing properly an hour ago. The tissue samples from yesterday showed stable regeneration. The blood work had been clean. But something had changed overnight, something fast and wrong, and now Elysium's lungs pulled air like they were remembering how instead of knowing. Kieran ran the compounds again. She checked every variable twice. Nothing in her work explained the collapse. The only pattern she could find pointed backward, to a synthesis method she'd seen once before in notes that weren't hers. The building sat three streets over, a high elven lab abandoned for decades, its brass fixtures gone green and its glass still intact. She'd catalogued it six months ago and walked away. The architecture alone told her what kind of alchemists had worked there, the kind who treated people like problems that needed solving. But the synthesis in those old records matched the enzyme breakdown in Elysium's latest samples, and Kieran was out of choices. She locked her own lab behind her and started walking. The trail appeared two blocks from the building, a slick green and blue smear that cut across the cobblestones and disappeared around the corner. It smelled like burned metal and rot. Kieran stopped. The lab had been empty for thirty years. She'd checked the records herself. But the slime was fresh, still wet at the edges, and it led straight to the building's entrance. She followed it anyway. The door hung open. Inside, something had been through the old workbenches, scattering glass and prying open storage cabinets that should have been sealed. Kieran pulled a sample vial from her coat and knelt beside the trail. Whatever had been here wasn't gone. And whatever it wanted was the same thing she needed. She took the sample. Then she pulled the brass ring from her pocket and set it on the doorstep, facing out. The initials caught the first gray light. If she didn't come back out, someone would know she'd been here. If she did come back, she'd need the reminder of what she was doing this for. Kieran stepped over the threshold into the old lab and let the door swing shut behind her.

The trail thickened as Kieran moved deeper into the lab. It pooled in the corners where the floor tiles had cracked, thick and luminescent. She followed it past overturned benches and shattered glassware, her boots sticking slightly with each step. The smell grew stronger. The greenhouse sat at the back of the compound, its glass panels fractured and green with overgrowth. Vines had wound through the twisted metal frames, glowing faintly in the dim light. Kieran stopped at the entrance. The slime trail led straight through the doorway and disappeared into the tangle of plants inside. She stepped forward, careful not to disturb the broken glass scattered across the threshold. That was when something moved in the shadows and lunged. The plasmoid hit her shoulder before she could react, knocking her back against the doorframe. Its form shifted and rippled, translucent green shot through with veins of electric blue. It was screaming at her in a language she didn't speak, but then it switched, the words sharp and desperate. "Where is she? Where is the astral elf scum?" Its surface bubbled with rage. Kieran's breath caught. She knew exactly who it meant. Venus. The creature surged forward again, and Kieran raised her hands, not to fight, but to show she had nothing. She didn't speak. Couldn't. The plasmoid trembled, waiting for an answer she refused to give. It retreated after a long moment, sliding back toward the center of the greenhouse where a blackened well sat surrounded by scorched stone. The burn pattern spiraled outward from the rim, and green ooze dripped down its sides. The plasmoid hovered there, protective and frantic. Kieran took a slow breath and lowered her hands. She wouldn't give Venus up. Not to this creature, not to anyone. But now she knew Venus was being hunted, and that meant whatever Venus had been doing in Toleen's eastern quarter three days ago had put her in danger. Kieran turned and walked out of the greenhouse, leaving the plasmoid behind. On the ground near the entrance, half-buried in moss, she spotted a tarnished locket with clouded amber glass. She picked it up without stopping. The photograph inside was too faded to make out, but the chain was Venus's style. Kieran pocketed it and kept moving. She had a choice to make now, and she hated that it had already been made.