The female chemist was already shrugging off her winter cloak, her fingers flying as she tied her hair back into a tight ponytail. "I'll go ignite the burners and prep the sterile glass vials. Your Grace, do we have enough distilled moon-water on hand for a blood-catalyst base?"
"We have three jars left from yesterday," I said, my heart hammering against my ribs as I rushed into the room behind them, the familiar scent of herbs and ozone welcoming us back.
Within minutes, the quiet basement was transformed back into a hive of frantic, electrified activity. The burners hummed with soft blue flames, glass pipettes clinked against slate countertops, and Isaac hastily hauled out a fresh tray of sterile silver needles and collection vials.
Standing over the main workbench, I unrolled the sle
