A hush fell as I entered the lounge. Eight brilliant minds turned toward me, their gazes fixed on the vial in my hand. The fluorescent lights above buzzed softly, harmonizing with the distant hiss of acid rain. Each breath sent a jolt through my bruised ribs, but the discomfort was a small price for the stage I had set.
I cleared my throat. "Everyone," I began, my voice steady, "while seeking inspiration in the Forbidden Zone, I encountered something extraordinary."
Slowly, I lifted the vial. The liquid inside shimmered—a golden hue tinged with crimson, catching the light in a mesmerizing dance. A metallic scent, sharp and ozone-laced, permeated the air.
Dr. Imra's voice broke the silence. "Is that… processed blood of the Lucent Whisperfang?"
Her eyes widened with recognition. I felt a surge of satisfaction. I was indeed surrounded by geniuses.
Before I could respond, Katrina stepped forward, her boots clicking against the floor. "The Lucent Whisperfang? A class-A apex predator! You risked your life—or worse—to harvest its blood? This isn't fantasy. How can we be sure it's real?"
I met her gaze. "Patience, Katrina. I intend to prove its authenticity."
Turning to Zabir, who sat in the shadows with fingers steepled, I asked, "May I trouble you for a quick verification?"
He rose, his movements deliberate, and examined the vial under the harsh light. His expression remained unreadable until he placed a drop onto a test slide. Moments later, he leaned back, eyebrows raised. "Incredible. This is indeed Whisperfang blood. Ninety-one percent pure. The impurities—dirt, residual rainwater, a trace of bioluminescent moss."
A murmur rippled through the group. Even Katrina blinked.
I allowed a faint smile. "Thank you, Zabir. For the rest of you," I raised my voice, letting authority seep in, "fortune and fame hold no sway here. I could sell this vial for enough silver to rebuild the labs—but I'm not driven by profit."
Their gazes sharpened. I held the moment, then placed the beaker on the table.
"You've heard the legends: processed Whisperfang blood can resurface distorted blood trails—revealing last whispers, lost final words. Our colleague Maria… she scrawled a message with her dying blood. Some letters are clear. The rest—gone. With this formula, we might reclaim every stroke."
Dr. Ankita's tone turned brisk. "Legends don't replace rigor. No peer-reviewed study confirms this. We're scientists, not fortune-tellers."
"Agreed," I responded. "That's why I called you all here." My voice dropped. "Tonight, we survive. Tomorrow, at dawn, we return to Maria's meadow. We apply this serum to the soil, the stone slab, the very blades of grass. If even a fragment of her last breath remains… we'll see it."
A pregnant pause. Rain pounded the windows, an urgent percussion. Fear edged their expressions.
Then Zabir stepped forward, voice low: "You ask us to gamble our lives on a fairy tale. We have stakes beyond curiosity."
I fixed him with a steady gaze. "Zabir, logic demands evidence—but evidence often lies buried. I offer you a spark. You can choose to bask in its warmth, or you can freeze in doubt. Which will it be?"
His lips twitched. "Words are cheap."
"Suspicion is cheaper." I paused to let that land. "If you believe this is trickery, test it yourself. Use your own instruments. I'll provide tools. But know this: I hide nothing."
Katrina crossed her arms, eyes sharp as razors. "Or maybe you thrive on chaos. Each of your grand theories ends in us chasing ghosts—while you stand safe in your ivory tower."
I held her gaze, unflinching. "Would I survive better alone? Perhaps. But I don't fear being hunted. I fear not knowing the hunter among us."
Katrina's lips curled, almost smiling. "You speak like a man who's read too much mythology and not enough manuals." Then she tilted her head, voice cooling:"But I understand now. You're not chasing proof. You're chasing narrative. You want truth to bleed like poetry."She stepped closer."Fine. But remember—legends don't save lives. They bury them."
I allowed a flicker of amusement. "Even so. If we're to be buried, I'd rather it be under truth than silence."
Dr. Imra, ever clinical, interjected: "What if this implicates an innocent? What then?"
I looked at her—softly. "Then we owe them a trial worthy of justice, not fear." My eyes swept the group. "We do this once. One application. If the blood glows on anyone's wrist or shoe—just one drop—we know where suspicion lies."
Dr. Ankita exhaled sharply. "You make it sound so simple."
"It is simple," I insisted. "But simplicity terrifies those who crave complexity."
There was a long silence. Then, Katrina murmured:"Truth is like fire. Those who seek it too earnestly are the first to burn."But she nodded.
One by one, they followed.
The Application
Lanterns cast dim circles of light around us. I prepared diluted serum in clean droppers. Each slip of liquid was a promise of revelation.
I approached Dr. Ankita first. Her face was pale but resolute. A single drop at her wrist. She clenched her fist, white-knuckled, before releasing.
Next, Dr. Imra—her gaze unwavering, though a single tremor in her hand betrayed her. Then Katrina, arms folded, head tilted; I traced her palm, indifferent. Finally, Zabir and the rest—each acceptance tinged with a question deeper than any vial.
"All set," I announced. "Now… we wait."
The Reveal
We counted silently: three… two… one.
At first, nothing. The serum sat inert. Relief rippled like wind.
Then—pulse.
A soft red glow blossomed on Mr. Koro's palm. He stared, transfixed.
Before he could speak, Dr. Imra's wrist glowed. Then Zabir's. A trickle of light turned into a flood—Dr. Ankita, Katrina, even the silent Mr. Zakir. Panic flared.
"Impossible!" Imra cried. "It should only react to guilt! We're all innocent!"
Katrina's laugh was bitter."So now we all wear the brand of a traitor?"
Zabir advanced. "You lied. This is chaos, not clarity."
I held up a hand. "Stop." My voice cut through the clamor. "You've misunderstood. The serum responds to adrenaline—fear, excitement, stress." My gaze sharpened, sweeping the circle. "Tonight, every one of you felt your heart seize. Suspicion is its own poison."
A beat of silence. Then:
"What trick is this?" demanded Koro, voice shaking.
"No trick," I said. "Just science—and honesty."
The Turning Point
Their anger turned inward. Accusations echoed:
"Why mix fear with truth?"
"You're playing god!"
"We trusted you!"
Each barb echoed an old wound—my past pride, my failures, my sister's tearful warnings. For a moment, I felt the weight of every broken promise.
Then… I let them. I let their doubts crash around me like waves. Because in that chaos lay my true advantage.
I stepped forward, voice low and commanding:
"This test was never about innocence or guilt. It was about movement. The traitor will not hide from fear. They will flee."
I paused, letting that settle.
"Tonight, someone among you will make a break for it. I guarantee it. When they do… we follow the trail."
Katrina's eyes flared. "You—"
I cut her off. "If no one moves—tomorrow we return to Maria's meadow. We pour the serum on her stone. Then we observe. The real culprit will show a pattern—because guilt, like water, always finds a crack."
Zabir leaned in. "And if they don't?"
"Then we adapt," I said, voice firm. "But remember—while you fret over glowing blood, the traitor is watching you fret."
Katrina looked away, then said softly:"Very well. But don't mistake temporary silence for loyalty. Even silence has a motive."
We dispersed into the night. I lingered under the bitter rain, serum vial clutched tight. Around me, campfires flickered like lonely hearts.
Inside, their minds churned: betrayal, fear, doubt. They would sleep—or try. I would not slumber. I had to prepare.
Tonight, every lock would click shut. Every corridor would be patrolled. Any movement would ring alarms.
I adjusted the vial in my coat pocket. Guilt—or truth—would guide the next step. But whether they chased their reflections or mine, the real move had already been made.
Because in the game of shadows, the greatest genius is not the one who finds the truth—It's the one who makes truth chase him.