The air in the Faculty of Medicine basement was stagnant, a suffocating mixture of ozone, damp limestone, and the metallic tang of blood samples preserved for decades. The amber glow from the central server rack cast long, skeletal shadows against the rows of glass vials, making the small room feel less like a laboratory and more like a high-tech catacomb. Seraphina stood at the console, her thumb still resting on the glass biometric plate, her heart beating in time with the rhythmic pulse of the machine.
On the screen, the numbers flickered—a digital executioner’s clock. She looked at Alessandro. He was standing just outside the immediate halo of amber light, his face half-hidden in the gloom, but his eyes were luminous with a cold, protective fury. Behind him, Sloane and Vane remained a
