Councilor Varric's cane struck the floor like a drumbeat.
“One final test," he said, voice oily. “Real battlefield conditions. We deploy the new toxin against live rebels. Visual confirmation. No more theory."
Karl's jaw clenched. “Seventy-two hours."
Varric arched a brow. “Excuse me?"
“I need data. Full enzyme breakdown. Atmospheric decay rate. Toxin‑to‑pulse delay."
“You've had years."
Karl stepped forward. “What I need is control. Let me do it right."
A pause. Then:
“Seventy-two hours, General," Varric said. “And don't forget—your little pet healer was never pardoned. One failure, and she burns."
---
In the lab, Karl slammed the door shut.
Lia was waiting, cross-legged on a stool, a tray of syringes on her lap. “Varric?"
“He wants a public field test."
“I guessed."
“He pic
