Lucien slept for three days. Élise cleaned his wound—a rose-shaped cavity where his heart once beat. He breathed. But his eyes stayed empty.
Clémence brought soup. "Will he live?" "Without a heart? No."
The answer came at midnight. Lucien woke. Touched his chest. "Élise?" She sobbed with relief—until she saw his eyes. No recognition. Only confusion.
"Who are you?" he asked. "Where am I?"
Adieu hadn't just erased Vesper. It burned Lucien's memories too.
Élise showed him their perfumery. Their engagement ring. Photos of Paris hunts. "I remember… a rose," he said slowly. "And pain." But not her. Not their love.
Clémence pulled Élise aside. "There's a way. Mother's journal mentions a 'Heart of Alchemy.' Vesper stole it centuries ago. It could replace his heart."
"Where?"
"The Crimson Abbey ruins. But Élise—it's guarded by the last Dubois woman."
Élise packed her tools. "Then I'll ask Aunt Celeste nicely."
They returned to Transylvania. The abbey ruins festered under a blood-red moon. In the rubble stood Celeste Dubois —Élise's great-aunt. White-haired. Eyes solid black. "Niece," she hissed. "You freed us from Vesper's machine. Now I take his power."
She lunged. Not at Élise—at Lucien. Her fingers plunged into his chest cavity. "The Hollow Man makes a perfect vessel!"
Élise tackled her. They rolled in ashes. Celeste was stronger. Faster. She pinned Élise. "Your blood is mine now."
Clémence swung Vesper's old blade. Celeste caught it—and screamed. The blade was forged from alchemized sunlight.
"You forgot, Auntie," Clémence said. "I have Dubois blood too." She stabbed Celeste's shadow— —and the abbey swallowed her whole.
In Celeste's grasp: a crystal heart glowing with golden light. The Heart of Alchemy.