CHAPTER 26: In the Laboratories

CHAPTER 26: In the Laboratories

The production laboratory at Enid Corp was a cathedral of steel and glass, where robotic arms danced with millimeter precision. The machines filled ampoules with an electric blue liquid—the Uber Lycan Serum—that glowed with its own light under the cold lights of the place. The air smelled of ozone and disinfectant, a clinical mixture that masked the brutal power being packaged in each vial.

Enid watched from an elevated walkway, wearing an impeccable white suit that made her look like a priestess of the new era. Her arms were crossed, her fingers drumming against her elbow as she contemplated her masterpiece.

"I see everything is running as usual," a familiar voice echoed from the shadows. "Automated perfection. Cold. Efficient."

Enid turned, startled. Fénix was leaning against a steel column, his hands in the pockets of his black jacket. The industrial light sculpted his face, highlighting the new edges of determination in his gaze.

"Heavens, Fénix!" she exhaled, bringing a hand to her chest. "You nearly stopped my heart."

"If I wanted to scare you, you'd know," he said, walking toward her. "It's not on my agenda for today."

Enid closed the distance and hugged him with a strength that surprised them both.

"I'm glad to see you," she murmured against his shoulder. "I was worried."

Fénix returned the hug awkwardly, like a wild animal learning domesticity.

"I'm here," he replied simply. "And I bring news. I control the Uber Lycan form."

Enid pulled back, her eyes scanning him with pride and clinical curiosity.

"How do you feel?"

"Strange," admitted Fénix. "Like a missing piece has clicked into place. But it took time."

"Of course," Enid smiled. "Because when I said it would take months, you insisted you'd figure it out in a week."

"I underestimated Alucard's sermons," Fénix offered a smile. "And his obsession with drama."

They laughed, a rare sound in that place of metal and electronic silences.

They walked along the walkway, observing the machines. Suddenly, Enid stopped Fénix by the arm.

"Wait," her voice had an edge of alarm. "What's that?"

She pointed to his left ear. A thread of clear liquid—almost invisible—was slowly dripping. Fénix touched his earlobe, irritated.

"Again," he murmured, wiping it with his sleeve. "This is getting annoying."

Enid took his chin, turning his head toward the light. Her finger captured a drop of the liquid. She smelled it instinctively—odorless, but with a strange viscosity—and her expression clouded.

"How long has this been happening?" she asked, too calmly.

"Weeks. Does it matter? I thought it was another ridiculous side effect."

Enid swallowed. Cerebrospinal fluid. Gradual loss. Symptom of elevated intracranial pressure. Serum failure? Rejection?

"It's nothing," she said, forcing a smile. "Stress, probably. Nothing to worry about."

Fénix looked at her intently.

"You don't sound convincing. If there's something you're not telling me, now's the time."

"When have I not had everything under control?" Enid touched his shoulder. "Trust me."

"Right," Fénix snorted. "Because trusting your control has always worked out so well for me."

Enid guided him back toward the machines, but her smile faded as soon as he looked away. The liquid on her finger seemed to burn with a truth she wasn't ready to admit.