Cassius stood still, his gaze locked on the vial of shimmering violet liquid suspended in the cold chamber's cradle. Light from the containment unit cast an eerie glow on his face, the kind that didn't come from any earthly substance. Across the room, the faint hiss of the chamber resealing itself was the only sound besides the soft whir of machines cycling in the background—steady, mechanical breaths in a room full of long-buried secrets.
Everyone else had left. Only Brent remained, arms crossed, his silhouette partially lit by the blinking monitors. The silence between them stretched, heavy and charged, like the moment before a storm broke.
"This thing," Brent murmured finally, voice gravelly with restrained emotion, "has ruined too many lives."
Cassius didn't answer right away. His eyes lingered on the vial as if it held not just a compound but a lifetime of choices, regrets, and memories that refused to stay dead. His silence was not avoidance—it was memory.
