Kazimir held her gaze, a deep stillness settling over his features. The projection from Anja’s terminal cast a blue sheen across his cheekbones. He didn't speak for a long moment, simply observing the coiled fury that made her entire frame tremble. The air in the opulent study, usually so heavy with the scent of aged leather and expensive wood polish, now tasted like ozone. “Aethel-Glide is a common industrial lubricant,” Kazimir finally said, his voice a low rumble. “Sold across the entire continent. Pinpointing the supplier without a direct purchase order from the Mirecki estate… it’s a needle in a haystack of industrial-grade synthetic oils.” “Then you find the needle, Volkov,” Anja retorted, her voice devoid of negotiation. “You have the resources. Every purchase of Aethel-Glide from every distributor within a thousand-kilometer radius. Every ledger, every delivery manifest. Cross-reference them with any clinical-grade neurotoxin purchases. It has to be a targeted delivery. Someone manufactured this specific blend, for a specific purpose.” His eyes narrowed, analytical once more. “And what do I get in return, Mirecka? My goodwill is not free, particularly when I am digging up graves that might be connected to my own acquisitions.” “The Chimera patent,” she stated, not flinching. “Once Teofil is safe, you get full, exclusive rights to every line of code, every synthesis protocol. Provided your team can prove they can produce it at scale and deliver it to me for Teofil. And you find the supplier and the person who commissioned them.” Kazimir’s lips curved into a faint, predatory smile. “A fair exchange. Especially if this toxin is as potent as your scanner suggests. A targeted biological agent…that level of laboratory synthesis is not cheap. Or easily hidden.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the gleaming surface of her antique desk. “My forensic auditors can be quite…thorough. We’ll start with the most obvious point of entry: Sorokin’s accounts, disguised under a routine compliance review tied to the Mirecki ledgers.” Anja didn't hesitate. “Do it. Now.” Hours later, the Mirecki estate’s secondary server room, a rarely used chamber tucked away beneath the old conservatory, was transformed into a silent, humming data hub. Two specialists on Volkov's payroll worked alongside Anja, pulling data streams from encrypted healthcare registries and foreign banking networks. Anja watched as streams of transactions, diagnostic codes, and escrow claims scrolled across the glass panels. “Most of her revenue is from standard clinical consultations and private retainers,” the technician murmured, adjusting a neural interface over his temple. “Clean, for the most part. No unexplained large deposits.” “Look for anything unusual. Any recurring payments that don’t align with her professional duties,” Anja commanded, leaning closer to the main screen. “Small, consistent transfers. Outgoing, incoming. Anything that resembles an off-book stipend.” Minutes stretched into an hour. Then another. The air grew thick with the silent hum of the servers and the low, rapid clicks of neural input devices. Anja felt a growing dread, a chilling certainty that the answer lay hidden within these dry numbers. The second tech clicked his stylus against the console. “Found something. A series of small quarterly wire transfers dating back almost two years, routed through a shell entity: ‘Chrysalis Holdings.’ Registered in the Aethelian Free Zone.” Anja stepped forward. The Aethelian Free Zone was notorious for its opacity. “Trace Chrysalis Holdings. Who owns it? Who funds it?” The technician rapidly unspooled the registry files. Layers of proxy ownership peeled back, revealing the primary parent company: a stark raven’s head in stamped steel. *Corvus Applied Science.* Corvus. The name was carved into her memory of the prior timeline. Years ago, the firm had tried to poach Teofil, offering him an astronomical sum and unlimited laboratory funding. Teofil, ever loyal to his family’s legacy, had politely, but firmly, rebuffed them. He considered their research into accelerated cellular decay unethical, even monstrous. Kazimir had swallowed the firm whole five years prior, absorbing their facilities and intellectual property. He had shelved their controversial tissue-decay experiments, deeming the liabilities unacceptable. Elena Sorokin, Teofil’s trusted physician, had remained on their hidden payroll. Not to cure him, but to ensure his genius, his groundbreaking work on the glass hummingbird’s delicate internal mechanisms, would never benefit a rival. To slowly, systematically, dismantle him. To render him useless, then dead. The cold certainty she had felt about Elena being the poisoner solidified into a horrifying, unshakeable truth. The subtle drops in the tea, the Aethel-Glide. It wasn't about some grand revenge. It was a corporate hit, hidden in plain sight, executed with clinical precision. The server room hummed with chilling regularity. The cold calculation of it left a sour taste beneath Anja's tongue. Elena, who had held her hand after her parents’ accident, who had joked with Teofil, who had shared countless meals at their table, was a paid assassin. A light tap landed on her shoulder. Teofil stood behind her, his expression clouded. “Anja? I heard voices down here. What is all this?” He gestured toward the glowing monitors and Volkov's contractors. “Nothing, Teo. Just a routine audit of the estate's investment portfolio. Volkov is being unusually thorough.” She tried to force a smile, but her lips felt stiff. He didn't look convinced. “You’ve been like this for days, Anja. Distant. Stressed. It’s not like you.” He hesitated, then lowered his voice. “I’m worried about you. And… and Elena.” Anja went rigid. “Elena?” “She’s been different lately,” Teofil confessed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Pressuring me. She brought over clinical waivers for ‘proactive health protocols’ related to the metal particulates and solvent fumes in my workshop. I don’t understand half the legal jargon, and she gets impatient when I ask questions. It feels… invasive. Like she’s trying to get me to agree to something without fully explaining it.” Anja stared at him. Elena was not merely poisoning him; she was trying to secure signed liability waivers to inoculate herself against future inquiries. To make his demise legally sound. The depravity of it was boundless. Before Anja could respond, a clipped voice broke through the speaker of the server room’s comms unit. “Security alert. Dr. Sorokin has arrived at the north gate, unannounced. Requesting immediate access to Master Teofil’s workshop. Claims it’s urgent.” Anja looked up at the perimeter monitor. Elena had arrived.

The Doctor's Ledger