# CHAPTER 18
A Race Against Time**
Once the shouting match between Harrison and Luna finally sputtered out, Krist requested a heavy meal, his body starving for raw calories to repair the neurological strain. He also tasked Harrison with retrieving his encrypted laptop from the van.
Within minutes, everyone had left the room, leaving Krist alone.
Silence settled over the hospital room.
Krist sank back into the plush hospital mattress, letting out a long, quiet exhale. The silence of the soundproof suite settled over him like a heavy blanket.
"After the storm inside my skull last night," he muttered to the empty room, "I'm not going to complain about a little peace and quiet."
Only a few hours earlier, every tiny sound had felt like a hammer striking directly inside his skull. The peaceful silence now felt strangely comforting.
He closed his eyes, instantly putting his mind back to work. He began mentally mapping the layout of the server vault, analyzing every variable, searching for structural blind spots in his plans, and replaying Scott and Bellatrix's conversation word for word.
His mind quickly drifted back to the events at the academy.
Bellatrix.
Scott.
The hidden server.
The Stark Key.
Although the mission had succeeded, too many things had gone wrong.
He mentally replayed every step, searching for mistakes.
*If Bellatrix changes the security again...*
*If Scott had arrived a minute earlier...*
*If my hearing loses control again...*
Every possibility created another problem.
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted.
His ears twitched.
His thoughts were abruptly cut short.
His ears twitched. A faint, metallic friction vibrated through the frame of the door—the internal mechanism of the heavy latch sliding back.
Krist snapped his eyes open. As the heavy door swung inward, he winced, a sharp spike of irritation hitting his temples as the muffled rumble of the outer corridor bled into the suite. But despite the discomfort, his focus locked entirely onto the entryway. His instincts were ringing an alarm: *the person walking through that door wasn't Evelyn, and it wasn't one of his teammates.*
He was right.
A woman in her early twenties stepped into the room, dressed in a crisp, tailored lab coat over dark scrubs. Standing at an average five-foot-six, her dark hair was pulled back into a tight, professional ponytail that framed a striking, intelligent face making her youthful face appear even gentler. Although not as strikingly beautiful as Evelyn, she possessed a calm elegance that made people feel at ease. She wasn't as drop-dead gorgeous as Evelyn, but she possessed an effortless, grounded charm —even with the faint, violet smudges of exhaustion bruising the skin beneath her eyes. The medical coat did little to hide a remarkably toned figure.
Surprise flickered across Krist's face. He sat up straight, clearing the tension from his throat. "Good morning, Miss Willa."
A soft, genuine smile broke across her tired features. "Good morning to you too, my boy," she said gently. Walking up to the bedside, she reached out and lightly ruffled his dark hair, a habit left over from years ago. She pulled up a chair and sat down. "How are you feeling?"
"You of all people should already know the answer to that," Krist replied, leaning back against the headboard.
Willa shook her head, a weary smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Fair enough. I know *exactly* how you feel right now. But I'm afraid things could get significantly worse."
Krist's brow furrowed. "Get worse how?"
Willa paused, her expression shifting from warm to deeply analytical. "Before I explain the biology, I need to confirm something with you. Do you remember the specialized injections your parents administered to you every year?"
Krist nodded without hesitation. He wasn't surprised she knew about them. Willa had been part of the pediatric research team that helped stabilize his hyper-acoustic flare-ups when he was seven years old. He had been her very first assignment as a medical resident at the facility; now, she was one of the lead bio-engineers on staff.
"Yeah. I remember," Krist said.
"Good," she said, her tone turning dead serious. "Do you happen to know where your father stashed the remaining supply?"
"No," Krist answered simply.
Willa frowned, leaning forward. "It doesn't have to be a full reserve crate, Krist. Even a single sealed vial would radically change our odds right now."
Krist shut his eyes, diving into his memory bank. He searched through every square inch of his father's private study, the basement workshops, and the estate's medical bays. He couldn't recall a single white-labeled serum vial anywhere in the mansion after his parents' death.
Opening his eyes, he sighed. "No. I'm almost certain there isn't a single vial left at the house."
Hearing this, Willa slumped heavily against the back of her chair, staring up at the acoustic ceiling tiles in deep, silent frustration.
"So... what now?" Krist asked into the quiet space.
"I don't know yet," Willa murmured, still looking up. "We're waiting on Dr. Albert so we can pool our data and see if there's any alternative pathway forward."
A long silence settled over the room before Krist broke it. "Is it really that bad?"
"For a normal patient? No," Willa replied, her voice tinged with a solemn, heavy sadness. "For you? It's catastrophic."
"Explain it to me."
"Our preliminary scans show that your auditory neural pathways have expanded exponentially compared to seven years ago," Willa said, turning her head to meet his eyes. "Your brain is processing raw frequency data at double the bandwidth. The sound-dampening headsets and external dampeners you used as a child? They won't even scratch the surface now. Without internal chemical suppression, ambient noise will literally cook your temporal lobe."
Krist absorbed the news quietly. He gave a single, calm nod of understanding, then laid back down, staring up at the white ceiling.
A firm, double-knock rattled the door a few minutes later. Before anyone could call out, the door was pushed open, and a handsome, blonde man in his late forties strolled right in. Standing at five-foot-eight, wearing an open lab coat over a sharp designer shirt, he casually swung the door shut behind him with his heel.
Without introducing himself or asking for permission, the doctor dragged a heavy leather armchair right up to the side of the bed and made himself completely at home.
Krist raised an eyebrow, staring at the man with a strange, incredulous expression. The doctor looked vaguely familiar—Krist had seen his face on medical journals and award plaques around the hospital lobby—but his complete lack of boundaries was jarring.
Willa cleared her throat loudly, shooting the blonde doctor an exasperated glare. "Krist, this is Dr. Albert. Chief of Neurosurgery."
Dr. Albert completely ignored Willa's death glare, flashing a bright, disarming smile at Krist. "How's it hanging, kid?"
"I see some bad habits never die," Willa muttered under her breath, looking away in annoyance.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Albert asked, glancing at her with an offended expression.
Willa didn't bother responding.
Albert turned back to Krist, clapping his hands together. "Alright, kid, let's dive right into business. First things first: you know those specialized injections your brilliant parents used to—"
"We've already covered the house search," Willa interrupted sharply before he could waste time. "He doesn't have any left. Move to step two."
"Ah. Right. That's... extremely bad," Albert said, tugging thoughtfully at his neatly trimmed beard. He fell quiet for a brief second before blurting out, "Well, I hate to do this to Grayson's kid, but I'm going to have to shorten your teenage years."
Krist's eyes narrowed, turning as cold as ice.
Willa immediately slapped a hand over her face. "You absolute idiot," she groaned, before rushing to correct him. "Krist, don't mind him—he's a complete moron! By 'shortening your teenage years,' he doesn't mean you're going to *die* young. He means we are going to steal your free time with endless clinical trials!" She shot Albert a murderous look. "For heaven's sake, speak like an actual doctor!"
Albert blinked, tapping his chin. "Right, right, poor choice of phrasing. As I was saying, to pull this off, we're basically going to have to steal—"
*SLAP!*
Willa struck the back of Albert's head with a folded medical chart. "I said go straight to the point!"
"Ouch! What was that for?!" Albert protested, rubbing the back of his neck. "Zero respect for your department supervisor! Are you actively trying to get fired from this institution?"
"I wonder who gets fired first when I tell Director Blake that you're traumatizing his nephew inside his own private hospital," Willa shot back effortlessly.
Albert scratched his head, looking genuinely puzzled. "When did I traumatize anyone?"
Willa covered her face with both hands, letting out a long-suffering groan. "You are utterly hopeless. Just explain the clinical plan!"
"Oh! Right!" Albert sat up straight. "Well, I have an open brain surgery scheduled in twenty minutes for Mr.—"
"NOT YOUR SCHEDULE! HIS PLAN!" Willa shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Krist.
"Right, my bad, my bad!" Albert facepalmed.
"Good grief," Willa muttered in pure exasperation. "How it is humanly possible that you are the top-rated neurosurgeon in the entire country with only seven surgical mortalities on your record while being this socially incompetent is beyond me."
"Hey! My brain works on a higher structural plane!" Albert argued, before Willa's glare cut him down. He cleared his throat, leaning in toward Krist with a serious expression. "Okay, kid. Here's the actual deal."
Albert reached down, lifting a metallic, temperature-controlled briefcase onto his lap. He popped the dual mechanical latches. The lid lifted with a hiss of pressurized cold air, revealing two glass vials resting inside custom foam inserts. Inside the glass swirled a dense, milky-white compound.
Krist's eyes widened slightly. He recognized the liquid instantly. It was the exact same synthetic serum his father used to draw into a syringe every year.
"If you've had those this entire time," Krist said, turning his gaze back to Willa, "why were you pressing me about a hidden stash?"
Willa gestured tiredly to the surgeon. "He's getting to that."
Albert held up a finger. "We have exactly *three* vials of this serum left in existence. We've spent the last six years trying to reverse-engineer the molecular structure, but every single synthesis attempt has failed spectacularly. That's where you come in."
"Me?" Krist asked.
"Yes, you," Albert said in one breath. "You are Grayson Stark's biological heir. The original formula isn't just standard chemistry—it uses proprietary bio-tech pathways that require a Stark's genetic authorization or direct technical input to synthesize. We need you in the lab. We need to run live baseline tests while dosing you to track how your neural pathways react in real time. Even if we can't completely crack your father's original master formula, your biological data might allow us to engineer a functional, secondary alternative before you run out of time."
Krist stared at the vials, his sharp mind dissecting the proposal in seconds.
"First," Krist said smoothly, "you said you have three vials left, but I only see two in that case. Second... why can't you just contact the original chemical manufacturer to order more raw ingredients?"
Albert smiled, looking genuinely impressed. "Sharp kid. Excellent questions. To answer your first question: the third vial is currently sitting in our subterranean bio-lab, being systematically destroyed under a high-powered electron microscope as we attempt to break down its molecular bonds."
He leaned back, his smile fading into a sober expression. "As for your second question... we can't call the manufacturer to process a new batch because we don't know the master formula. And the person who knew it is dead."
Krist's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean you don't know the formula? My father was a genius, but he wasn't a biochemist. Who synthesized the original compound?"
Albert exchanged a heavy, silent look with Willa before turning back to Krist.
"Your father didn't synthesize it alone, Krist," Albert said quietly. "The master formula was a joint project created by Grayson Stark... and 7 others."