“Different bloodlines have different properties,” he says. “These work best for Crimson Haze.”
He shows me the basilisk venom storage in a separate temperature-controlled unit, and there are various grades and potencies available.
He leads me to a workstation on the right.
“This is yours.”
It’s larger than the others, with premium equipment. I find here everything I used in the warehouse but of better quality. State of the art, even. There’s even a computer station for recording formulas and batches.
“You’ll have everything you need,” Garrett says.
Then he walks to a door at the back of the laboratory and opens it.
“Take a look.”
I approach and see a small room beyond – a bedroom with an attached bathroom. There’s a single bed, a small dresser, and a lamp on a bedside table. I can see the bathroom door open, revealing a toilet, a sink, and shower.
A chill runs up my spine.
I take a step backward and look at the laboratory’s main door. I know it’s locked. There are no windows anywhere, and the only exit is through that locked door. I’m trapped.
I turn back to Garrett.
“What is this?”
“You live here now.”
“There’s no need to kidnap me. I want to work for you. I proved that. But you can’t take my life away. This isn’t fair.”
“This is temporary. First, we need massive amounts of Crimson Haze. Since we lost our previous chemist, our inventory is nearly depleted. Clients are desperate. You need to work intensively to rebuild our stock.” He pauses. “Second, and more important, I don’t trust you. You’re too eager. Too good at what you do. Too perfect. You appeared exactly when we needed a chemist. Everything about your situation is convenient.” His eyes narrow. “You’ll stay here while I investigate your background thoroughly and make absolutely sure you are who you claim to be. Don’t worry. Food will be delivered, the mattress is new, you’ll be comfortable. The bathroom is private. You just need to work and prove yourself. Once I’m satisfied you’re legitimate, the situation will change.”
I want to protest again, to argue and demand my freedom, but I force myself to hold back. Showing too much resistance would be suspicious. A real criminal would understand this precaution. I swallow my arguments and nod stiffly.
Garrett studies my face one more time, looking for cracks in my composure. Then he turns and walks to the door.
“Get to work. I want results.”
The door closes, and I hear the lock engage with a heavy click.
I stand frozen for a moment, then whisper:
“Fuck.”
But I catch myself before saying more and look around carefully. I spot cameras in the corners of the laboratory – small,modern, and well-placed. They have complete visual coverage. I go to the bedroom doorway and look up. There are cameras in here too, one angled at the bed, one at the dresser. There’s no privacy anywhere.
I go into the bathroom and close the door, then search thoroughly for cameras. I check ceiling corners, around the mirror, near fixtures, behind the toilet, and inside the shower. I examine the air vents carefully. Finally, I’m satisfied. There are no cameras in here. At least they’re giving me bathroom privacy.
I think to Zeth, keeping my face neutral.
“This isn’t ideal.”
“I know,”he responds.“But you’re strong. You’ll get through this. We’ll figure it out together.”
I take several deep breaths and force my shoulders to relax. I center myself the way I learned in training. I acknowledge the fear but don’t let it control me. I’ve done harder things. I can handle this. The mission is what matters.
I return to the laboratory and walk to my workstation. I pull my red hair back into a tight knot at the base of my skull, grab a clean apron from a hook and tie it on, then snap on latex gloves. I look at the equipment and straighten my spine.
If they want results, I’ll give them results. And gather intelligence every step of the way.
