The laboratory aboard The Trench was a chaotic symphony of humming centrifuges and glowing holographic displays. Unlike the pristine, clinical labs at Thorne Tower, this place smelled of ozone, burnt sugar, and desperation.
Elara stood before a glass-walled containment unit, her eyes bloodshot. She hadn't slept since they stepped off the Ghost-Step.
"You're pushing the molecular weight too high," Kaelen rasped, leaning over her shoulder. His prosthetic arm whirred as he adjusted a titration valve. "If the vapor is too heavy, it won't linger in the air. It’ll just fall to the floor like dust."
"It needs to be heavy, Kaelen," Elara countered, her fingers flying across the touch-screen. "Beatrice’s security uses high-end HEPA filtration in the Zurich estate. If the particles are too light,
