The dim light of dawn filtered through the thick velvet curtains of Levistis Manor, tinting the marble floors in gentle gold. Despite the hour, the manor wasn't still.
It hadn't been, for days.
Adrian sat hunched at his workbench in the east wing laboratory, surrounded by glass beakers, data pads, coded equations, and hovering medical scanners. His silver eyes were bloodshot, dark crescents shadowing them. He hadn't left the lab in over sixteen hours.
His hands trembled slightly as he inputted another variable into the simulation interface, then ran the genetic sequence again. A flicker. Red. Failed.
"Again," he whispered.
The screen swam in front of his eyes. He blinked hard—once, twice—but it didn't help.
Then it came.
The sharp stab behind his eyes. The nausea rolling up from his gut. He barely had time to reach for the nearby waste bin before he doubled over, retching.
His chest heaved.
The bitter taste of stomach acid burned his throat.
"Adrian!"
