Mizari ignored the throbbing ache in her temples. Sleep was a luxury, a distant shore she couldn’t reach with the syndicate's bio-weapon ticking down. Three days. Not enough time for her usual meticulous synthesis, but enough to improvise. The Obsidian Citadel’s primary alchemical lab was a marvel, a sprawling, climate-controlled cavern beneath the mansion, humming with automated stirrers and crystalline condensers. She moved through it like a ghost, her bare feet silent on the polished ferro-glass floor, the faint scent of diesel from the city above barely penetrating the advanced filtration. She wasn't sleepwalking, exactly. More like operating on fumes, her mind a precision instrument whirring despite the body’s exhaustion. Her current focus: a series of unstable intermediates, glowing with an angry, volatile blue, swirling in a triple-layered reaction flask. This aerosolized Ash-Blight strain was a variant of the common pulmonary irritant, but this one attacked neural pathways to trigger rapid systemic collapse. Her counter-agent needed a unique enzyme, an anti-catalyst she’d only ever found in trace amounts within her relatives' proprietary blight-cure serums. Without it, her antidote would be a temporary reprieve, not the permanent solution she sought. She reached for a delicate glass rod, her movements precise, almost lethargic in their efficiency. Her fingers brushed against the cold metal of a vacuum valve, adjusting its flow by a microscopic fraction. The blue liquid in the flask shuddered, a thin wisp of acrid smoke curling from its surface. One wrong move, and the entire compound would detonate with enough force to breach the lab’s reinforced ceiling. Not ideal for a quiet three days of work. Heat radiated against her shoulder blades, followed by heavy, unyielding weight. A low rumble vibrated through the floorboards, and a heavy arm cinched around her waist, dragging her flush against a reinforced chest plate. The unexpected contact, the sheer, sudden *warmth*, made her flinch, not from fear, but from the disruption to her delicate chemical balance. “Can’t sleep, little moth?” Kavakh’s voice, rough with sleep, breathed against her ear. His grip tightened, possessive, almost desperate. His cheek pressed against her hair, the scent of his skin – ozone and refined diesel – filling her senses. Mizari stiffened, but her hands, guided by instinct, didn’t falter. The blue liquid in the flask, however, did something unexpected. The volatile shimmer lessened. The angry blue deepened, stabilizing into a rich sapphire. The acrid smoke vanished. Kavakh’s body heat. His sheer, radiating warmth, coupled with the subtle vibrations of his breathing, had provided the exact energetic input required to stabilize the compound’s crystalline lattice. Mizari blinked as the reaction settled. She was working on a highly explosive neuro-toxin inhibitor, and Kavakh’s protective hug had just made it safe. The universe truly had a bizarre sense of humor. She sighed, a quiet, almost inaudible sound. “Needs… a final component,” she mumbled, letting her head loll back against his shoulder. His arm remained, a solid, living counterweight. She didn’t bother explaining that she was synthesizing a bioweapon counter-agent, or that his presence had just averted a localized explosion. He’d probably just think she was having a bad dream. Before Kavakh could respond, a soft chime echoed through the lab. Siroc. His face, usually a mask of weary competence, was pale, etched with fresh alarm. He held a comm-pad, its screen flickering with static. “The syndicate,” Siroc began, his voice barely above a whisper, “They’ve escalated. Intercepted this from their central relay. It’s a coded broadcast, but the threat is… explicit.” He tapped the pad, and a garbled voice, filtered through layers of obfuscation, crackled to life. “*—Plague-Breaker—Obsidian walls—We know she hides—Surrender her—or the Dust-Ward slums will breathe ash until nothing stirs.*” The transmission ended with a sharp snap of static. Kavakh’s frame stiffened against her back, his arm locking like iron. “They dare,” he growled, a low, guttural sound that promised retribution. “They *dare* threaten my city, my people.” His grip on Mizari tightened, an unconscious reflex. Mizari, however, wasn’t focused on his rage. Her mind latched onto a single, crucial detail. *Plague-Breaker*. They suspected she was here. Which meant her timeline was now compressed to less than three days, since they were willing to gas the city to flush her out. And the enzyme. She absolutely needed that enzyme. “Sleepy,” she murmured, her voice muffled against Kavakh’s chest, cultivating a tone of profound, unreasonable exhaustion. “Still… needs a trinket. From… the Red Sunder warehouse. Rival storage. Always has… little bits.” She let her voice trail off, making it sound like a half-formed dream fragment, a childish complaint. Kavakh didn’t hesitate. He released her, turning swiftly. The shift in his demeanor was instantaneous, from protective lover to an engine of focused destruction. “Red Sunder,” he repeated, his eyes hardening to flint. “Their main distribution hub. Stockpiles of toxic refuse, stolen ordnance, and whatever glass vials you want.” He began shrugging into a tactical vest, the metallic clinks echoing in the quiet lab. “Siroc, prep a strike team. Small, fast. We’re going to carve the heart out of their ‘trinket’ collection.” Siroc swallowed hard and nodded. “Immediately, my Lord. Gear will be ready in ten minutes.” He spun on his heel and disappeared, the urgency of Kavakh’s command overriding his previous alarm. Mizari watched Kavakh move, a blur of practiced efficiency. He strapped on a wicked looking bladed gauntlet, then a heavy-caliber sidearm. He was already halfway to the armory exit when Siroc reappeared, looking even paler, his respiration wheezing through clenched teeth. “My Lord! A moment!” Siroc stammered, holding up the comm-pad. His eyes darted nervously between Kavakh and Mizari. “I… I made a mistake. To maintain cover with their overseer, I sent a coded reply, implying… implying we’d consider the ‘surrender’ if they proved their sincerity. And that if they didn’t, we would retaliate at a major supply asset.” Kavakh paused, one hand on the armory doorframe. His gaze was sharp, interrogative. “And?” Siroc swallowed hard, his voice barely a squeak. “I mentioned the Red Sunder. As a… target of opportunity. They’ll be expecting you. It’s an ambush.”

Sleepwalking Through the Lab