"You’re looking for the greenhouse," the gaunt man rasped, his eyes milky with cataracts but fixed with unsettling precision on Silas’s throat. "But the Botanist doesn’t grow flowers for the living anymore. He grows them for the Riven accounts."Silas didn't holster his weapon. He kept it leveled at the man’s sternum. "I’m not here for a botanical tour. I’m here for the chemist. Tell me where he’s processing the neuro-toxin, and maybe you get to keep your teeth."The man wheezed a laugh, a dry, rattling sound that mirrored the distant vibration of the slum’s generators. "You’re an operative, aren't you? A hound sent to drag a ghost out of the fog. But you’re hunting the wrong prey, stranger. The Botanist isn't hiding. He’s the one pulling the leash."Silas stepped into the man’s personal space, the scent of stagnant water and rot clinging to the air like a shroud. "I don't play riddles. Where is he?""Behind the old fish market. Look for the yellow light—the only clean thing left in th