Rell grinned, looking pleased with himself. “Here’s the list of everything we need.” He held out a folded paper.
Taking it, she moved to the workbench with a sense of purpose she hadn’t felt since leaving The Institute. She pulled her journal and recipe book from her satchel, placing them carefully on thepolished surface. Her fingers brushed over the worn leather covers, the texture steadying her in a way nothing else could.
She glanced around the room, her gaze flicking over the shelves and counters, assessing what she had to work with. It was impressive, not as stocked as the labs at The Institute but for an underground illegal lab, it would do. She began gathering the essentials: a mortar and pestle, a small cauldron, a candle, and a set of scales. Her hands moved with practiced motions, arranging the tools on the workbench in a layout that felt familiar and efficient.
The flame of the candle flickered to life as she lit it, the warm glow adding another layer of comfort to the room. She set her satchel on a stool and began organizing the ingredients, her mind slipping into the familiar rhythm of her craft. The methodical process was soothing, each step grounding her further in the present and quieting the storm of thoughts that had tormented moments before.
Rell watched her from across the room, his smirk still firmly in place as he leaned against a shelf. “Not even a ‘thank you, Rell, for providing me this amazing lab’?” he teased, tilting his head.
She glanced up at him briefly, one eyebrow raised. “Thank you, Rell,” she said flatly before returning to her task.
Rell chuckled, clearly satisfied with her reluctant gratitude. “You’re welcome.”
As she worked, Elora felt something she hadn’t felt in a month. A flicker of peace. Here, surrounded by the tools of her craft, she could almost forget the danger pressing in from every side.
Almost.
∞∞∞
The stockpile of shards was growing fast but so was the emptiness of Elora's stomach. She had been hunched over the workbench for hours. A knot in her back told her to take a break but her mind refused to let go of the numbing sense of peace she had found.
Rell had helped her a bit, gathering ingredients for her when he could no longer stand watching her return to the same shelves every few minutes because she forgot something. Now he sat across from her, a leather-bound journal open before him. The soft scratching of charcoal against paper provided a gentle rhythm beneath the bubbling of her cauldron.
At first, Elora barely noticed his presence—too absorbed in the precise measurements and delicate timing her work required. But as the hours passed, she became increasingly aware of the way his eyes would lift from his journal to study her face. The first few times, she dismissed it as casual observation. But the frequency was becoming... deliberate.
Tehvan had mentioned weird quirks she would do when she was brewing. Turning her head as she poured, whispering under her breath, clicking her tongue with every ingredient she crushed. Was that it? Was Rell picking up on her odd little rituals?
She caught him mid-glance as she reached for a vial of dried onyx petals, and this time he didn't look away immediately. His gaze traced the line of her jaw, the way the lights caught the auburn in her hair. When she arched an eyebrow, his lips quirked into that familiar smirk before he returned to his sketching.
The curiosity gnawing at her concentration would have to wait. A thick amber liquid bubbled in her cauldron. Abyss's Embrace. The poison was notorious for its complexity. After several attempts to get the liquid to the right consistency she let out a frustrated sigh.
"Come on, Elora," she muttered to herself.
Rell looked up with an amused crinkle in his eye. "You talking to yourself now?"
She shot him a glance. “It helps.” She massaged the back of her neck, twisting it, hoping it would crack. “I’m not as familiar with making poison. It’s not what I focused on at The Institute.”
“I can see that.”
She pointed her stirring rod at him. “Not all of us aspire to be killers.”
His smirk faltered. “I wasn’t born with these aspirations either.” He shrugged. “But we do what we need to survive.”
Elora looked away, worried she had insulted him. “Sorry,” she muttered.
Rell opened his mouth to speak when they suddenly heard talking coming from the other room. “Sounds like Violette and Symond are back.” He rose from the workbench, closing his journal, and shoving it into a pocket inside the lining of his coat. “Come on, we should eat.”
Elora’s stirring faltered for a second before she continued like she hadn’t heard him. “I’m fine.” She glanced up, catching his no-nonsense expression. “Just one more, then I’ll come out. Promise.”
Rell raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he leaned against the edge of the table. “You’ve said that before, haven’t you? One more, and then one more after that.”
She felt safe here. She couldn’t handle seeing Symond again, not right now. Probably not ever.
Rell stepped forward, gently prying the tool from her hands and setting it firmly on the table. Elora blinked up at him, startled, but he didn’t give her time to argue. Laying his arm loosely over her shoulders, he steered her towards the door.
“Fine,” she said, not attempting to hide her disdain for him in that moment.
“Atta girl.”
