The night pressed against the city like a living thing, heavy with silence and anticipation. Rain had yet to fall, but the air was thick and metallic, as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath. The smell of danger loomed in the air, lingering for a very long period of time. Although the night seemed to be peaceful, it was far from it. Something bad was going to happen soon. The neon sign outside Room 19 of the crumbling motel flickered erratically, casting sickly yellow pulses across Jeffery's sharp features as he hunched over his crude alchemical setup. The Philosopher's Stone lay before him, nestled in a silver casing engraved with sigils, its faint glow insistent—a heartbreak in the dark, resonating with Qi and Ether. The chemicals on the table exuded a faint, sweet burn. Sulfur, crushed herbs, traces of crushed minerals—a scent that Jeffery had come to associate with control and potential.Tick. Tock.He stared at the Stone, fingers drumming a silent rhythm on the sca

The rain was a constant, punishing rhythm, hammering the streets and bouncing off metal and asphalt with unrelenting ferocity. Jeffery moved through the city like a shadow, his coat drenched, boots leaving dark streaks on wet concrete. Each step was measured, deliberate, every breath controlled. He didn't just move—he read the environment, the storm, the slightest tremor of the city, as if it spoke to him in secret.Above him, neon lights flickered and buzzed, half-drown in the downpour. Each colour cast jagged reflections across puddles, distorted and alive, like broken mirrors of the world he was about to confront.Aadam's influence was spreading. The mutated men were only the beginning—reckless pawns flung into the streets to test him, to gauge his response. Jeffery knew the pattern. The chaos wasn't random; it was precise. And it would escalate.Aadam wanted a chaotic world—one which he would control. And by now the realization hit Jeffery that it might not necessarily be Aadam fa

The rain had subsided, leaving the city slick and glimmering under the faint glow of neon signs. The streets hissed with the last whispers of storm water, gutters carrying secrets down to the sewers.Jeffery moved like a shadow over puddle-slick asphalt, each step slow, deliberate, carrying the exhaustion of a body and mind pushed to their limits.The night's chaos lingered like a phantom across his shoulders. Mutated men had fled; the threat had been defused—for now—but the weight of responsibility pressed against his chest like iron chains. He could feel every pulse of the Philosopher's Stone beneath his coat, a quiet heartbeat echoing the storm that had passed but left scars in its wake.The city smelled of wet concrete and ozone, a scent that always reminded him of beginnings and endings at the same time. He inhaled deeply, letting it fill his lungs, steadying his Qi, centering himself.Every step toward the motel was both relief and dread. Relief because he could finally rest. Dr

Rita Stirling woke to the pale light of dawn filtering through the curtains of her penthouse, the city below still stirring in its usual rhythm. She lay for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, letting her mind wander to Jeffery. The thought of him still hiding in an unknown place, carrying the weight of suspicion for murders he hadn't committed—one perpetrated by Aadam Prescott—made her chest tighten. She had to appear normal, calmly, unshaken—her every move a shield against the scrutiny that now surrounded.Jeffery had told her this the last moment they had met. He didn't want her being arrested as well. It would really tarnish the name of the Stirling family and affect the company—something which neither of them wanted. So she had agreed to do just as he had said, till everything had been solved. And that included not reaching out to him no matter what.Her morning routine was precise, almost mechanical. Every gesture—sliding into her blazer, adjusting her cuffs, the careful appl

Rita sat frozen at her desk, the screen glowing with images she could barely comprehend. The alley, slick with rain, cordoned off by police tape, shattered asphalt reflecting neon light—every detail was seared deeply into her mind. Ronan Blake. Suspected Armed robber. Murdered. J recognizable.Her fingers trembled, hovering over the phone. She wanted to call Jeffery, needed to hear his voice, to confirm that the man loved could never do something so monstrous. To be honest, Jeffery had killed but it had never been brutal like last night's. And it was always because Rita's life had been endangered.But... what if she was wrong? What if he had actually done it? The thought made her stomach twist into knots, bile rising like fire.She pressed her palms to her face, trying to steady her racing heart. Jeffery had warned her countless times: keep your life normal, maintain appearances. Pretend the world doesn't see you as linked to him. That advice had always been theoretical—now it was pai