The laboratory in the east wing was bathed in the cold, blue glow of a sterilizing UV lamp. The air smelled of antiseptic, aluminum, and the faint, metallic tang of fresh blood.
Evelyn Blackwood stood over a stainless-steel workbench, her hands steady as she operated a centrifuge. A small vial of her own blood spun inside, separating into layers—plasma, platelets, and the faint, luminous golden serum that had appeared in her tests. This serum was the concentrated essence of her Dawn bloodline. It wasn’t a cure for the curse, not yet. But it was a shield—a biological defense against the dark magic that had infected Lucian’s lineage for three centuries.
She was so focused on her work that she almost missed the sound.
A sharp thwack.
It was a thin, piercing sound—like a needle being drive
