It had been two days since Alice locked herself in the chemistry lab. The windows were fogged with condensation, the air thick with the bite of metal and acid. Rows of glass tubes glowed faintly under the weak fluorescent light, their contents swirling in hues of amber, green, and dull red. Each mixture hissed softly, alive with unstable promise.
Her hands moved with mechanical precision, sleeves scorched and fingertips stained. Equations scrawled across the walls overlapped like frantic thoughts—formulas for things that could burn, dissolve, or silence. Time was limited; she would have to quicker. Her determination spiked as the glass tube in front of her glowed.
A beaker cracked somewhere, releasing a sharp, bitter scent. Alice looked up, eyes reflecting the glint of her latest creation. For the first time in two days, she smiled—cold, satisfied, and entirely certain of what she had become.
