Three weeks had passed since Knox had brought Youri to his home, and through all those days the boy divided his time between the books in the living room and the garden that stretched out behind the manor. It was an almost endless garden, a spread of trees, hedges and long green lawns that rustled softly whenever the wind moved through them. Youri would usually find a tree at the far end of it and sit beneath its shade with whatever book he had chosen for the day, turning the pages slowly and letting the quiet close around him. For a few hours at a time, out there under the leaves, he could almost forget how empty the world had become.
Knox, for his part, mostly stayed at home. Now and then a call would summon him away, but he was never gone for long. On some afternoons, as Youri sat reading in the shade, Knox would settle into a chair on the back porch and simply watch him. He wore a faint smile when he did it, and his expression was hard to read — fondness, perhaps, or something deeper that Youri could not quite put a name to. Youri learned to keep his eyes on the page whenever he felt that gaze on him. It was easier than wondering what it meant.
One afternoon, as he came down the staircase toward the living room, he heard Knox speaking on the phone, his voice low and controlled.
"Good. Make sure to come from the back side," Knox said. "Call me when you get here."
He ended the call and turned his head toward the stairs, then took a few slow steps in that direction with his eyes narrowing, but by the time he reached the bottom of the staircase there was nobody there. Youri had already slipped back up to his room, and his heart was beating far too fast.
He lay down on his bed and tried to forget what he had heard, but the words kept repeating themselves in his head. The back side. On Knox's estate, that could only mean the back lot behind the house, and the back lot led straight to the basement — the sealed basement he had seen through the dining room window on his very first night, with its metal bindings glinting in the lightning and that faint cry coming from somewhere inside it. A cold unease crawled slowly beneath his skin.
Night fell over the estate, and Youri could not sleep. He lay staring at the ceiling until the sound of an engine rumbled somewhere outside. Then he was on his feet and at the window at once, but the angle of the yard hid whatever vehicle had arrived. Curiosity and dread pulled at him in equal measure. In the end it was curiosity that won. He put on his shoes, slipped out of his room, and crept down the staircase, stepping carefully over the boards he already knew would creak.
On the ground floor, the glow of headlights was cutting through the darkness from the back lot. He went to the door that led outside and pressed his face to the narrow strip of glass beside it. A truck had pulled up behind the house. Around it stood several men dressed entirely in black, their faces hidden beneath masks and wide-brimmed hats, unloading long, heavy black crates from the back of the truck and carrying them one by one down into the basement.
Then, to Youri's shock, Knox himself came up the basement steps with a brown leather suitcase in his hand.
"Be careful with those," he barked at the men. "Those things are rare. I'm not paying you a damn coin if the merchandise is damaged."
The masked men hauled the last of the crates inside. Knox went back down the steps after them and came up again a little while later. He handed the suitcase to one of the men, who opened it, looked over whatever was inside, and gave a curt nod.
"It's a pleasure doing business with you," the man said.
Without another word, they climbed back into the truck and drove off. The darkness swallowed their headlights. Knox did not look worried. He only looked tired, and perhaps a little annoyed, as he turned and disappeared down into the basement once more.
Youri stood behind the glass with his breath coming shallow. Then he opened the door and stepped out into the night. The air felt unnaturally cold. He crept across the lot toward the basement entrance, gripped the edge of its outer wall with his small hands, and raised his head just far enough to look down inside.
The basement was much larger than he had imagined. The black crates lay scattered across a wide, low room with old, uneven brick walls. The air that drifted up from it smelled faintly of chemicals and damp. At the far end stood a pair of white double doors, their paint peeling, their frames gone rusty. There was no sign of Knox anywhere.
His curiosity tugged at him harder than his fear did. He slipped down the steps and inside.
Each of the white doors had a small square window near the top, but they were set far too high for him to see through, so he looked around until he found a small crate nearby and dragged it quietly across the floor, placing it in front of the doors. Then he climbed onto it carefully and rose up on his toes until he could see through the glass.
A greenish light filled the room beyond. It was an operating room, though not like any Youri had ever imagined. A fluorescent tube flickered overhead, the tiles on the walls were cracked and stained, and an old metal table stood in the middle of it all, draped in a tattered cloth, with instruments scattered across it that were crusted with something dark and dry. The floor around the table was marked with dried blood, and heavy chains hung from the ceiling above it, swaying ever so slightly although the air was perfectly still. In the corner, a bulky old machine hummed quietly to itself.
Youri's stomach turned over, and a chill went through him so sharply that his legs nearly gave way beneath him.
Without warning, the doors flew open with a violent crack, and Youri flinched so hard he almost fell off the crate.
Knox was standing in the doorway. He had been in there the whole time, just out of sight.
Youri froze, every muscle locked in place, while Knox's face settled into something between amusement and irritation — a faint smile, but not a comforting one.
"What are you doing here, Youri?" Knox asked. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it.
Youri fumbled for words. "I — I came down for water… and I saw a light outside… so I just came to look."
Knox studied him for a long moment, and then he sighed softly. "All right," he said. "I suppose the plan has to start earlier than expected."
Youri's breath caught in his throat. Knox stepped out and pulled the double doors shut behind him with a metallic thud, then turned to face him fully. "Since you've found your way down here," he said, "I don't suppose I have much of a choice now."
He walked over to one of the black crates and pried its lid free, the nails groaning as they gave. From inside it he lifted out a square glass jar. The glass was thick and fogged by the strange green fluid that filled it. Something inside it was moving, something small, pale and unmistakably alive. Knox held it with a careful grip that was almost reverent.
"Youri," he said quietly, "do you know what makes people special?"
Youri said nothing. He was trembling.
"It isn't strength," Knox went on. "It isn't luck. It's potential. Hidden potential." He tapped the glass with one finger, and the thing inside twitched. "And some people are born with far more potential than they ever realize."
Youri took a step back without meaning to. Knox noticed, but he did not come toward him; he only set the jar down on the nearest crate, and his voice stayed measured and patient, like a teacher's.
"Don't be afraid. I'm not angry. In fact, I'm impressed. You're braver than most. Curious. And curiosity" — he tilted his head — "is the first step toward understanding."
Youri swallowed hard. "What… what is that thing?"
"A prototype," Knox said with a faint smile. "A fragment of something ancient. Something valuable. Something I've spent years working toward." He began to walk slowly around the room as he spoke, as though he were giving a tour. "When I found you, I thought it would be months before you were ready. Months before you so much as wondered what lay beneath this house. And yet here you are, standing in the very heart of my work." He gestured toward the white doors, toward the blood, the chains and the humming machine behind them. "This basement, Youri, is where potential is unlocked."
The room seemed to tilt around Youri. Then he heard footsteps — slow, heavy footsteps coming from somewhere beyond the double doors.
Knox did not look surprised. If anything, he looked pleased. "Ah," he murmured. "They're early."
The footsteps stopped, and a metallic scrape followed, as though something heavy were being dragged across the floor. Knox laid a firm hand on Youri's shoulder.
"Don't run," he whispered. "If you do, they'll catch you before I can explain."
The double doors creaked open. A tall silhouette stood in the greenish glow, bound in metal cuffs, its shoulders rising and falling with deep, shuddering breaths. Knox's grip on Youri's shoulder tightened just slightly.
"Youri," he said, with quiet certainty, "welcome to the beginning."