The morning after the alleyway brawl with Jace felt like a fever dream. Elara woke up with her muscles aching and the scent of leather and burnt ozone still clinging to her hair. She expected a lecture from Killian or a smug comment from Jace at breakfast, but the mansion was eerily quiet.
A tray was waiting by her door: artisan bread, honey, and a glass of dark green juice. Beside it was a note written in precise, elegant calligraphy.
"Your biological clock is in disarray. Drink this. Then, meet me in the Sub-Level 3 laboratory. We need to discuss the 'Sight' before you lose yourself to it." — A. Thorne
Elara drank the juice—it tasted like kale and iron—and made her way to the elevators. Sub-Level 3 wasn't part of the tour Killian had given her. When the doors opened, the air was colder, sterilized, and hummed with the sound of massive servers.
Alistair was waiting for her. He had traded his suit jacket for a pristine white lab coat. He was leaning over a digital microscope, his silver-rimmed glasses catching the blue light of the monitors.
"You're late by three minutes," Alistair said without looking up. "Though, considering Jace's reckless driving, I'm surprised your vestibular system is functioning at all."
"I'm fine, Alistair. Jace got me what I needed," Elara replied, walking toward the center of the room where a high-tech medical chair sat surrounded by scanners.
Alistair finally turned. He was handsome in a way that felt dangerous—like a polished scalpel. "Jace got you a fight. I am going to get you the truth. Sit."
Elara sat, feeling the cold leather against her skin. Alistair moved close, his movements fluid and clinical. He began attaching small, non-invasive sensors to her temples.
"Do you know why the Five Families are obsessed with that painting, Elara? It's not just about gold or land. It's about the Source."
"The Source?"
"Every few generations, a 'Muse' is born," Alistair explained, his voice dropping to a soothing, hypnotic register. He stood behind her, his hands resting lightly on the headrest, just inches from her hair. "The Five Orchids were once one garden. But we grew too powerful, too greedy. We split the Source—a wellspring of influence, longevity, and wealth—and locked the map to its location within that painting. But the lock is biological. It requires someone with your specific ocular mutation to decypher the layers."
He dimmed the lights. A holographic projection of Elara's own brain appeared in the air. Certain pathways were glowing with a vibrant, golden light.
"Your 'Sight' is a bridge between the physical and the metaphysical," Alistair whispered. He leaned down, his breath warm against her ear. "But it comes at a cost. Every time you use it to see through the canvas, it drains your neural energy. If you aren't careful, you'll go blind. Or worse."
Elara felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. "Why are you telling me this? Killian didn't."
"Killian is a strategist. He sees the goal. Jace is a soldier. He sees the thrill," Alistair said, moving back into her line of sight. He took her hand, his fingers pressing against her pulse point. His touch was cool and steady, but his eyes held a strange, burning hunger. "I am a scientist. I see the person. I don't want to see you break, Elara. I want to see you transcend."
He reached for a small vial on the table. "This is a stabilizer I developed. It will protect your optic nerves. But in exchange, I want you to tell me what you saw last night. Not the fight. What did you see when you touched the cinnabar?"
Elara hesitated. "I saw... strings. Like red silk threads connecting the pigment to the earth. And I saw shadows of people who touched it centuries ago."
Alistair's grip on her hand tightened slightly. "Fascinating. The psychometric residue." He leaned in closer, the distance between them vanishing. For a moment, the clinical atmosphere of the lab shifted into something deeply intimate. "You are a miracle of biology, Elara. And in this house of monsters, I am the only one who can keep your heart beating."
Suddenly, the lab doors hissed open.
Silas stood there, his massive frame filling the doorway. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, his expression as stony as ever.
"Killian wants her in the library," Silas rumbled. "Now."
Alistair didn't pull away immediately. He took his time, slowly releasing Elara's hand. "We weren't finished, Silas."
"You are now," Silas replied, his eyes locked on Alistair with an unspoken threat.
Elara stood up, her head spinning from Alistair's revelations. She felt like a specimen under a microscope, yet she couldn't deny the strange, intellectual pull she felt toward the doctor.
As she walked toward Silas, the silent giant stepped aside to let her pass, but his hand briefly brushed her shoulder—a grounding, heavy touch that felt like an anchor.
"Don't listen to his ghost stories," Silas whispered as they walked toward the elevator. "He likes to scare things so they run to him for safety."
Elara looked up at him. "And what about you, Silas? What do you want?"
Silas stopped the elevator doors from closing for a second. He looked down at her, his dark eyes unreadable. "I want to be the one who's still standing when this house eventually burns down. And I want you to be standing with me."
The elevator doors closed, leaving Elara in the center of a storm she was only beginning to understand. The Five Orchids weren't just protecting her; they were preparing to consume her.
And as she reached for her portfolio, she realized her 'Sight' was changing. She could see the threads now—black for Killian, red for Jace, white for Alistair, blue for Min-ho, and gold for Silas.
They were all tied to her. And the knots were tightening.