The ducal carriage rattled away, leaving the Kopřiva Apothecary shrouded in the encroaching dusk. Vlasta stood frozen in the doorway, the Imperial Solstice Ball summons still clutched in her hand. Two weeks. The timeline, once a distant hum, now shrieked in her ears. Two weeks until Milena, unsuspecting, would stand in the opulent halls of the Imperial Palace, a target. Two weeks until the Whispering Blight would claim her. Jarek, pale and trembling, finally broke the silence. “Vlasta, what do we do? The Solstice Ball…” “We prepare,” Vlasta snapped, stowing her panic behind a sharp, purposeful scowl. “We find the vermilion petals. Today. Now.” She grabbed her satchel, tossing in a pouch of coin, a field diagnostic roll, and a small, discreet dagger. “Jarek, fetch the cart. We’re going to the Grand Emporium District. Every major apothecary warehouse in Bratoslav keeps a stall there.” Within the hour, the Kopřiva cart, laden with nothing but an empty crate, wove its way through the crowded, gaslamp-lit streets of the Grand Emporium. The air, thick with the scent of tinctures, exotic spices, and coal smoke, hung heavy around them. Vlasta, her hood drawn low, moved with a predatory focus, Jarek trotting anxiously at her heels. Their first stop was ‘The Verdant Flask,’ a reputable supplier known for its rare botanical ingredients. “Good evening, Master Trader,” Vlasta greeted the shopkeeper, a portly man with spectacles perched on his nose. “I am seeking the scarlet bloom. A substantial quantity, if you have it.” The shopkeeper peered at her over his spectacles, his expression blank. “Scarlet bloom? Ah, a delicate flower. But alas, we’ve not stocked it in many months. A finicky plant, you see. Difficult to acquire.” Vlasta felt a familiar prickle of dread. This was wrong. The flower was rare, yes, but not *unobtainable*. In her past life, she had sourced it from three different suppliers during her frantic search for the antidote. They moved to ‘The Gilded Mortar,’ then ‘Apothecary’s Haven,’ and a dozen other stalls. Each encounter was a frustrating repetition. “None in stock, mistress.” “Haven’t seen it in months.” “Perhaps next season.” Each denial chipped away at Vlasta’s composure, replaced by a growing fury. This wasn't bad luck. This was a coordinated effort. “They’re lying,” Vlasta hissed, pulling Jarek into a darkened alleyway between two overflowing produce stalls. The stench of overripe fruit filled the air. “Every single one of them. The stock was here three days ago. A single buyer bought out the whole reserve to set the stage.” Jarek stepped back against the crates. “But… who would do such a thing? And why conceal it?” “That’s what we find out,” Vlasta said, her gaze scanning the bustling market. Her eyes landed on a small, unassuming booth tucked away at the very end of the street, barely visible beneath a crooked awning. ‘Skácel’s Ledger.’ An old broker named Oldřich Skácel ran it. In her former life, he had proved reliable for quiet municipal transactions, knowing every bulk manifest passing the city gates. Vlasta approached the stall, a small wooden table laden with dusty scrolls and peculiar trinkets. Oldřich, a wizened man with a tangled grey beard, looked up from an oil lamp. “Lost, little songbird?” Vlasta placed a heavy silver krone on his table. “I’m looking for manifests, not curios, Oldřich. Who acquired the city’s recent shipment of scarlet blooms? All of it.” Oldřich’s glance dropped to the metal, his fingers twitching. He picked up the krone, weighing it. “A curious question. Most folk aren’t so keen on such a peculiar blossom. A second krone, and a name might find its way to your ears.” Vlasta, without hesitation, pushed another krone across the table. Oldřich pocketed both coins with a practiced flick of his wrist. He leaned in conspiratorially. “Ah, yes. The roses. A bulk purchase, indeed. Not for any compounding shop, mind you. For a noble house, rather discreetly. The Žižkas. House Žižka, newly arrived from the eastern provinces, eager to make an impression at court, perhaps.” Vlasta’s mind raced. The Žižkas. A minor house. Unremarkable. Perfect pawns. The pieces were beginning to align with a horrifying precision. The net was far wider than the crude poison plots of her past life. Unseen, from a rooftop overlooking the market, a cloaked figure watched Vlasta and Jarek depart. The hood obscured their face, but a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer around their form suggested a ward of concealment. The watcher tracked Oldřich for a breath longer, then dropped silently into the adjoining passage. A quick, almost invisible hand slipped a small, leather-bound ledger beneath a loose cobblestone. It was a perfectly forged document, detailing an enormous flower purchase by a merchant guild from the southern city-states, specifically dated two months prior. The ledger was designed to be found by Imperial Security agents, and to send their investigations spiraling in the wrong direction. Back at the apothecary, Vlasta and Jarek wasted no time. “House Žižka,” Vlasta muttered, pacing the lab. “It has to be them, or at least, they’re being used. We need to investigate their movements, their associates.” “But first, the temporary antidote,” Jarek reminded her, carefully sifting through a bin of dried herbs. “Milena needs something, anything, to buy us time. The silver thistle, Vlasta. We need it to stabilize the initial serum.” Vlasta moved to her storage shelves, reaching for the jar of dried carline stalks, crucial for the temporary preventative brew. She pulled it down, the glass cool in her hand. But as she uncorked it, a faint, acrid scent wafted out. Not the sharp, earthy aroma of potent stalk, but something dull, almost chemical. She poured a handful onto her workstation, crushing a few leaves between her fingers. They crumbled to dust, inert and useless. The jar fell against the shelf rim. Her stabilizing stock lay ruined. The active resins had been scorched out. This wasn't natural decay. This was deliberate. A saboteur had doctored her shelves, anticipated her timing, and countered her. “No,” Vlasta whispered, her voice barely audible. “Impossible. This… this wasn’t like this yesterday.” Jarek rushed over, his brow furrowed with concern. He picked up a pinch of the ruined herb, sniffing it carefully. “The cellular structure is compromised, Vlasta. And the scent… a faint trace of ferric oxide. It’s been corrupted. The intruder knew you’d reach for it to buy time.” His voice dropped to a horrified murmur. “They’re in our shop, Vlasta. Or they bought a key.” Vlasta stared at the blackened powder coating her fingertips. Not just a conspiracy outside, but an enemy within, or at least one with access. Her future knowledge, her greatest weapon, had been compromised. Her every move was being countered. ““Milena!” Vlasta bolted past him. She took the stairs two treads at a time, Jarek stumbling behind. They burst into Milena’s bedroom, the soft glow of a bedside lamp illuminating the quiet space. Milena was asleep, a book fallen open beside her. Vlasta rushed to her side, checking her breathing, her pulse. Milena was fine, for now. Just then, Jarek let out a strangled gasp. “Vlasta… look.” On Milena’s pristine white pillow, resting beside her sleeping head, was a single, perfect bloom. Its petals a deep, iridescent crimson, almost black in the shadows, its stem a vibrant green. A Cinnabar Rose, fresh with night dew.

Whispers in the Glass