Not relief. Not peace.
Absence.
That’s what Symond wanted. Needed.
Symond moved through the halls, shadowing the edge of torchlight, every step calculated and quiet. The faint throb of music from the upper levels—revelry, or training, or both—muffled any sound he might have made.
He shut the door of the alchemy lab behind him and waited for his breath to slow.
The walls were lined with shelves upon shelves of glass vials containing various colored liquids and powders, labeled with small handwritten tags. In one corner, a large alchemy table was cluttered with various ingredients and tools, while in another corner stood a few large machines, their gears turning slowly. The pungent scents of various herbs and chemicals blended together in the air, overpowering any other smells in the room.
He moved to the cabinets along the back wall. Inside were dusty vials. Some with residue clinging to their corks like dried blood.
MEMNORÉ–Short-Term Displacement
TETHER-SAP–Mental Severance (24hr)
RECALL DAMPENER–Anchor Agent
He gritted his teeth. These weren’t enough. This was the stuff they used in interrogations, indamage control. Temporary fixes. Patchwork.
He needed something clean.Permanent.
For a moment he stood there, shelves open around him, and an idea struck.What if I could just erase him? Gerard. That one name. That one face.
Just one cut. One slice across the brain. Not a lobotomy, but a surgical strike.
But he wasn’t an alchemist, didn’t know the first things about potion brewing. He needed help.
He found it in the greenhouse wing, bent over a trough of steaming moss.
Nyla. Symond’s first thought was that she looked like a child. A kid who’d snuck into the Hive’s workshop to play with the grown-ups’ magic. Her hair was curly and wild, her face soft and round, like she hadn’t been scarred by anything yet. She reminded him of Arria, the Al’teran half breed who died during the trials. She’d had the same young face. The same enthusiasm. But hopefully not the same unfortunate trait of fucking up.
Symond stood in the archway until she looked up, her hands still elbow-deep in glowing mulch.
“Need something?” she asked.
He stepped into the warmth of the room, the scent of moist soil and citrus sap clinging to his coat. “I’ve got an assignment,” he said, trying not to sound like he was choking on the words.
That caught her attention. She stood, wiping her fingers on a cloth. “From who?”
“Internal request. Violette wants something tested. For field use.”
She narrowed her eyes but didn’t challenge it outright. “What kind of something?”
He forced a shrug. “Memory-related. A potion to make someone forget a person. Permanently. You can do that, right?”
Nyla tilted her head. “I can but I need a biological imprint. DNA.”
Symond’s stomach turned. “Like hair?”
“Hair. Blood. Saliva. Anything that was part of them.” She paused, studying him. “Why? Who are they trying to erase?”
He didn’t answer. That information wouldn’t be for her to know anyway.
Her lips tightened. “Do you have the DNA?” Symond shook his head. “Well, without a tether, the potion won’t know where to target. It’ll just scramble.”
Symond inhaled sharply. No. There was no way. No chance of getting Gerard’s hair, blood, anything. He’d never go back there. Not for that. Not for any of them. But the thought of it lingered, taunting him. It had been a stupid hope to begin with. It was never just one person. Never just one face. Gerard was the sharpest memory, the deepest cut, but not the only one. He could erase that bastard’s name from his mind, but the rest would still be there. Would still eat him alive from the inside out.
