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MillionNovel > Where Waves Meet Shadows > Chapter 3: Beneath the Flickering Glow

Chapter 3: Beneath the Flickering Glow

    Isabella leaned against her workstation, her fingers methodically sorting through notes and sample jars as though busy hands might quiet the unease simmering in her chest. The faint scent of pine wafted in from a garland draped haphazardly across the archway, a half-hearted nod to the season. She didn’t hear the scream at first—just a muffled sound that clawed its way through the foggy hum of the lab. Then it came again, sharper this time, cutting clean through her concentration.


    “Help! Someone—”


    Her hands froze mid-motion, glass clinking softly against the counter-top. For a moment, she didn’t move. Then instinct kicked in, and she bolted toward the source.


    The algae wing was colder than usual, the thin air biting at her lungs as she skidded to a halt in front of Lab 4. The door was ajar.


    “Hello?” Her voice trembled, breath forming faint wisps in the chilled air. Pushing the door open, she found herself staring at a familiar, horrifying tableau.


    Dr. Peterson was slumped against the steel lab bench, his white coat splotched with dark stains. His head slumped to one side, and his hands were charred, fingers frozen mid-claw as though reaching for salvation that had never come. The same sickly, chemical burns marred his skin—deep, ragged, and unearthly.


    “Oh... no.” Isabella’s voice barely rose above a whisper as her hand flew to her mouth. The room spun, nausea clawing at her throat. This was Alan all over again. Same wounds. Same awful stillness.


    The sound of footsteps broke through her haze. A shadow loomed in the doorway, and then Detective Blackwood emerged, her sharp green eyes zeroing in on the scene.


    For a moment, neither of them spoke. Detective Blackwood’s gaze flicked from the body to Isabella. A frown etched deep into her face, and when she finally broke the silence, her words landed like a hammer.


    “Second corpse in two weeks, Hartley.” Her voice was low, measured. “And you’re the common denominator.”


    Isabella flinched, the accusation—unspoken but heavy—hitting her square in the chest. “I didn’t—” Her words tangled in her throat. She took a deep breath, willing herself steady. “I was coming to check on some samples. I heard the scream.”


    Detective Blackwood stepped further into the room, her boots clicking softly against the tiled floor. She crouched near Peterson’s body, her gloved hand tracing the edge of a burn. She didn’t speak for a long moment, just inspected the wounds with a clinical detachment that made Isabella shiver.


    “These marks.” Detective Blackwood gestured to the burns, her tone more pointed now. “Same as the ones on doctor Alan.”


    Isabella nodded, her arms wrapping tightly around herself.


    “Yes. It’s... it’s not natural. It can’t be. No chemical I know of burns like that.”


    Detective Blackwood reached under the lab table and pulled out a camera that looked an awful lot like the one found at the other crime scene. Her thumb rubbed the spot where the recording crystal should have been. She rose to her feet, eyes pinned Isabella again, searching, probing.


    “You sure there’s nothing you’re leaving out?”


    Isabella’s jaw tightened. “I’ve told you everything I know, Detective Blackwood.”


    The detective’s sharpness softened just a fraction, though the weight of suspicion lingered in the air between them. She stepped toward the window, peering out into the swirling fog outside.


    “We need answers,” she muttered. “And fast. Whatever this is... it’s not stopping.”


    The silence stretched, heavy and stifling. Finally, Detective Blackwood turned back, her green eyes locking onto Isabella’s with a steadiness that was almost unnerving.


    “You’ll stay in the lab tonight.”


    Isabella blinked. “What?”


    “I need to keep an eye on you,” Detective Blackwood said bluntly, crossing her arms. “If you’re not directly involved, something about you is drawing this mess like flies to sugar.”


    “Or I’m just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Isabella shot back, her voice firmer now. “I’m not a suspect.”


    Detective Blackwood’s lips quivered, a faint smirk pulling at the edges. “Not yet, Doctor Hartley. Not yet. But that doesn''t mean I am not going to be keeping a close eye on you.”


    The exchange left Isabella’s cheeks flushed, her chest tight with a confusing mix of frustration and something else she couldn’t quite name. Detective Blackwood had a way of getting under her skin—sharp-eyed and sharp-tongued, her presence was as unsettling as it was steadying. Isabella’s lips pressed into a thin line, her thoughts churning. Despite the unnerving weight of Blackwood’s constant watchfulness, she couldn’t shake the odd sense of calm that had settled low in her gut, like the first breath of ocean air after a storm.


    The body of Dr. Peterson lay cold and still a few feet away, a grim reminder of why they were here, but Isabella’s attention kept snagging on the detective. Something about this encounter felt...different. She frowned, trying to untangle the threads of her own reaction. The fear and panic that had overwhelmed her when she had discovered Dr Alan, replaced by something softer, quieter. She didn’t understand it, didn’t want to dwell on it, but her gaze kept darting to Blackwood’s face—the way her green eyes narrowed, calculating, always three steps ahead, and the way she seemed to carry the shadows with her, like an unspoken promise of safety or danger.


    "Some deep thought expressions you''re making there. Doctor," Detective Blackwood remarked, her voice carrying that dry, cigarette-laced edge. She leaned against a lab table, one hand tucked into the pocket of her trench coat, the other flicking ash from the cigarette balanced precariously between her fingers. The faint curl of smoke seemed to tether Isabella back to the room, her far-off gaze snapping into focus like a diver surfacing too fast.


    "Oh, sorry," Isabella said, her words soft, a little too quick, as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Just thinking about..." She trailed off, her usual clarity faltering under the weight of detective Blackwood''s sharp, unflinching stare.


    She sighed, trying to slow her racing thoughts, her fingers brushing absently against the faint scar on her brow.


    “Fine. Detective Blackwood. I’ll stay. But only because I want to figure this out as much as you do.” Detective Blackwood’s smirk faded into something quieter, more thoughtful.


    “Good.” Her voice was softer now, though the steel in it hadn’t disappeared entirely.


    “Because if we don’t stop this soon, I might find you slumped over your lab desk.” The thought sent rivers of cold through Isabella''s veins. But what else could she do?


    She allowed detective Blackwood to lead her back to her lab and work station, the green glow of the algae samples on the desk waiting idle for her return. She heard detective Blackwood turn and utter something under her breath. Next thing she knew a blue glowing rune appeared to carve itself into the door leading to the room where she found Dr. Peterson''s body. The thought of his lifeless eyes sending her stomach through a loop and she had to clamp her hand over her mouth to stop her dinner from coming back up.


    ***


    The algae squirmed under the magnifying glass, each strand twisting toward the faint glow of the mage-light. Not just alive—hungry. Isabella Hartley adjusted the angle of the light, coaxing the halo to spread evenly across the petri dish. Her breath hitched as she leaned closer, the faint shimmer of light crystal dust swirling like motes of magic within the mix she''d prepared.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    She tapped her pen against the edge of her notebook, the soft click punctuating the silence. The flickering mage-light caught her eye again, its erratic sputters dancing shadows across the lab bench.


    “Shoot,” she murmured, her tone more frustrated than panicked, as her hand instinctively moved to stabilize the fixture.


    Her gaze dropped back to the algae, now pulsing faintly, drawn ever so slightly to the light''s movement like moths to a flame. She scribbled a quick note—Light crystal dust may enhance phototropic response. For days, this idea had lingered in the back of her mind, teasing her every time she’d seen the algae drifting toward even the faintest glow. Tonight, she’d finally tested it.


    “You always talk to your equipment like it’ll behave if you’re polite?” The voice came sharp and dry, slicing through the quiet hum of the lab. Detective Blackwood stood on the other side of the room, leaning against an unused lab bench.


    Isabella jolted, her fingers nearly knocking over a vial, but she covered it with a quick laugh.


    “Only the ones with a sense of humor,” she said, throwing a glance over her shoulder that held just enough warmth to disarm. Then, as if nothing had happened, she turned her focus back to the algae sample she was preparing, her movements precise and measured.


    The soft rhythm of Blackwood’s boots against the tiled floor grew louder as she crossed the room. She carried her coat draped over one shoulder, an unlit cigarette peeking from her pocket, its faint tobacco scent mingling with the sterile air. Stopping just behind Isabella, she leaned slightly, her sharp green eyes cutting to the glass slide.


    “What have you got there?” Her tone was casual, but the words carried a weight that suggested she already had her suspicions. She didn’t hover, but her presence brought the same calm it had earlier that night. Isabella glanced up briefly before continuing her work.


    “A particularly stubborn bit of algae. Trying to see if it’ll reveal its secrets before I resort to harsher methods.” Her smile lingered in the corner of her mouth, teasing but careful not to overstep. Blackwood exhaled, the sound more like a quiet huff than a laugh.


    “You give it a name yet, or is that reserved for the ones with a real sense of humor?”


    “Not yet detective Blackwood.” Isabella chuckled softly, then dared to look at her again, catching the faintest curve at the edge of detective Blackwood’s mouth—a half-smirk that faded too quickly to confirm. As the silence stretched, the detective shifted her weight, loosening a tension Isabella hadn’t noticed until it ebbed.


    “Call me Evelyn,” she said at last, her voice low, brushing the edge of unreadable. A hint of smoke hung in the tone, like a half-doused ember still holding its heat. “If we’re going to be spending this much time together, Detective Blackwood is going to wear out its welcome fast.”


    “Oh! Sorry,” Isabella blurted, fumbling her words as a blush crept up her cheeks. Her hands froze for a moment before finding a semblance of rhythm over the equipment again. “Bad habit.”


    For a beat, she hesitated, then blinked, her surprise giving way to a softer smile—wider now, and more unguarded.


    “Evelyn it is.” The way she said it lingered in the space between them, a small flame of warmth against the detective’s measured coolness.


    Evelyn’s gaze flicked to Isabella’s hands, watching as they steadied over the array of vials and petri dishes. She didn’t respond, not right away. Instead, she tipped her head slightly, studying the flush still faint on Isabella’s face. A moment of quiet observation, nothing more—before her green eyes slid away like shadows slipping back into place. Evelyn stepped back slightly, her gaze darting toward the rest of the lab, but the faint scent of her still hung there, mixing with the saltwater and algae. For a moment, it felt like the room had shifted, the tension tilting toward something easier, less guarded. Neither of them mentioned it, though; it wasn’t the kind of thing you needed to name.


    “More questions than answers.” Isabella gestured to the dish. “This batch is… different. It’s reacting to materials in ways it shouldn’t.”


    “Define ‘different,’” Evelyn said, her sharp green eyes narrowing as she focused on the writhing mass.


    “See this?” Isabella’s pen hovered over the petri dish, her voice steady but tinged with fascination. The algae, green and faintly pulsing, clung to the jagged edge of a palm-sized shard of plastic. Its glossy surface dulled as the algae consumed it, curling threads of polymer vanishing with alarming speed.


    “It’s eating through plastic—big chunks of it,” she said, glancing at Evelyn. The detective stood at the edge of the lab table, arms crossed, her sharp gaze pinned to the display.


    Isabella tapped the dish lightly with the pen.


    “It''s reaction seems to scale with increased magical stimulus, so...” She trailed off as her hands hovered above another experiment tray, trembling as she adjusted the setup. This time, three pink crystals rested in a careful arrangement around the dish, their copper encasing shimmering like embers under the mage-lights. She hesitated before turning the knobs to amplify the current, her throat tight with apprehension. Each crystal pulsed faintly, a delicate rhythm like a heartbeat—before their combined energy surged into the algae.


    The reaction was immediate. The algae writhed as if electrified, its once-fluid tendrils snapping toward the prepared tissue sample like striking vipers. The lab-grown fragment didn’t just dissolve—it unraveled. A grotesque, fibrous decomposition spread outward, consuming the tissue in seconds. Flesh fragmented into a sickening slurry, vanishing into nothingness.


    Isabella stumbled back, her breath hitching in sharp, her chair toppling over and crashing against the floor. Her palm slammed against the edge of the counter for balance, and for a terrifying moment, she thought her legs might give out. This wasn’t the accelerated decomposition of polyester she’d witnessed earlier. This was voracious. Merciless. The algae had devoured the tissue as though it had been starving—and this feast barely sated its hunger.


    Her hand flew to her mouth, sight of Dr. Alan and Dr. Peterson bodies burned in horrid and strange ways flashing to the front of her mind, trying to keep what little food she had been able to eat from coming back up.


    "Looks familiar." Evelyn''s cold, calculating voice echoed from behind her. Isabella snapped her head round, eye''s still filled with panic and fear.


    "What?" She asked, the word a fight to get out.


    “Residue found on the bodies of your colleagues, Dr. Alan and Dr. Peterson, matched the algae samples you have been working with. Almost exactly. Except for one chemical difference.” Evelyn’s tone was measured, but her gaze was piercing.


    “Something was added to it, something that made it… dangerous.”


    Isabella’s stomach churned.


    “What kind of chemical?” Isabella''s stomach did another flip, but she felt a little of the panic wash from her mind as Evelyn turned her gaze towards her. For a brief moment Evelyn''s expression shifted to...What? Concern? Fear? Worry? But after Isabella blinked, Evelyn''s expression was back to the same serious professional investigator look that she always wore.


    Evelyn shook her head. “Still working on that. But whoever’s behind this knows what they’re doing.”


    Isabella stared at the algae. Someone on her team had discovered this. Someone had weaponized her work.


    “Doctor Hartley,” Evelyn said, her voice softer now but no less firm. “Don’t go chasing ghosts. Not tonight.”


    “I’m not,” Isabella said, but the words felt hollow even as she spoke them. She glanced at Evelyn, her expression faltering. “I just… need to figure this out. If it’s my work being used to hurt people—”


    “Then you’ll stop it.” Evelyn''s hand hovered near Isabella’s shoulder for a moment before withdrawing. “But not all at once. And not alone.”


    Isabella nodded absently, her mind already racing ahead. She knew she wouldn’t sleep tonight.


    ***


    Detective Blackwood’s voice dipped low, rough like gravel smoothed just enough to catch the edge of her weariness. “But not tonight. C’mon, Dr. Hartley. You’ve got to give yourself a break. I’ll walk you home and seal off the lab. No one’s touching anything until you’re back here after at least six hours of sleep.”


    "Six hours?" Isabella snorted, too tired to muster a full laugh. "We all have our fantasies, don’t we, Detective?" Her voice wavered, though, betraying the exhaustion that had seeped into her bones.


    Evelyn arched a brow, her green eyes flicking up just enough to challenge her. “Not a fantasy. A directive.” She straightened, the stubborn set of her jaw making it clear she wouldn’t budge.


    For a moment, Isabella lingered, her hand resting on the desk as if the smooth surface might anchor her to the task she wasn’t ready to leave behind. The algae in the dish gave another shiver, its vibrant green dimming to an ominous shadow. She sighed, long and quiet, the weight of it heavy in the otherwise still room.


    “Fine,” she murmured, finally pushing herself up. Evelyn didn’t give her a chance to waver, stepping in and guiding her toward the door with a light but firm touch on her elbow. It wasn’t forceful, not quite, but it wasn’t a suggestion either.


    Behind them, the faint crackle of energy from the petri dish played its eerie melody. The algae coiled and twisted like a predator waiting in the dark.


    By the time they reached the door, the first pale hues of dawn had begun creeping through the high windows, painting soft streaks of gold across the steel counters. Isabella rubbed her eyes, the faint tremble in her hands giving her away.


    Evelyn stopped, turning toward the door. Her voice dropped to a low murmur, something sharp and unfamiliar laced through the words. Isabella blinked, watching as a rune the color of moonlight carved itself into the wood. It glowed faintly, like frost catching the first rays of the sun, before settling into a quiet hum.


    "That should hold," Evelyn said simply, glancing back at Isabella. Her green eyes flickered with something that might have been concern, but the moment passed too quickly to be sure.


    “You really don’t trust anyone, do you?” Isabella asked, her voice soft, the sharp edge dulled by exhaustion.


    “Not when it counts,” Evelyn replied, her tone flat. She swung the lab door closed, the rune locking into place with a faint, metallic click. “Let’s get you home, Doc.”
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