The station reeked of stale coffee, old cigars, and damp wool—a cocktail Evelyn Blackwood had long since filed under bureaucratic stench. The air was thick with the kind of inertia that made progress feel like wading through molasses. Phones rang incessantly, typewriters clattered with the fervor of overworked fingers, and somewhere in the chaos, a cop barked orders at a suspect who wasn’t inclined to listen. Evelyn shoved through the doors, letting them slam shut behind her. Her sharp green eyes scanned the bullpen, skipping over the flurry of uniforms and tired faces, zeroing in on the chief’s glass-walled office at the far end like a hawk sighting prey.


    Chief Raymond looked up from his cluttered desk as she stepped into his office. The man’s face, weathered and lined like an old road map, twisted into something between confusion and annoyance.


    “Blackwood,” he said, his pen tapping against a stack of papers. “What the hell are you doing here?”


    Evelyn leaned against the door-frame, her arms crossed. “You tell me, Chief. I got a message saying you wanted me back here for a report!” Her voice flooded with annoyance.


    Raymond leaned back in his chair, his expression darkening. “Blackwood, I didn’t send any damn message. You’re supposed to be knee-deep in that algae case, not playing courier.”


    Evelyn stiffened, the words slicing through her like a cold blade. Her jaw tightened, and her mind raced, piecing the puzzle together.


    “You’re saying no one called me back here?”


    “Not from my office,” the chief confirmed, his voice tinged with annoyance. “Why? What’s this about?”


    Her stomach churned as realization dawned. “It’s a diversion,” she said, more to herself than to him. She straightened, urgency crackling in her voice. “Someone wanted me out of the Institute… probably to make their next move.”


    Raymond’s expression softened slightly. “You think they’re going after that scientist? What’s her name, Hartley?”


    “Isabella!” Evelyn exhaled, panic gripping her throat, already stepping out of Raymond''s office.


    “Get units over there. Now!” she ordered.


    “Blackwood, wait—” Raymond started, but she was already gone.


    The station walls rippled, shadows coiling like smoke as Evelyn stepped into their depths. In an instant, the dimly lit office snapped back to its stagnant gloom, the faint echo of her boots the only sign she’d been there at all. Outside, she spilled into the alleyway, her momentum carrying her hard into the far wall. The brick bit back, and she staggered, catching herself with a palm against the cold, gritty surface. Frosted breath clouded the air as she straightened, the night’s chill needling her cheeks. Overhead, mage-lights flickered like second-rate stars, their hum blending with the distant grind of the city.


    She didn’t give herself the luxury of stillness. The long shadow of a streetlamp stretched toward her like an invitation. Evelyn stepped into it, dissolving into the black without hesitation. She reappeared beneath the hulking outline of a parked car, its shadow bleeding into the building’s across the road. A sharp exhale, then she surged forward, diving into the car’s shadow before bursting out on the other side of the street. This time, she rolled, the motion jarring but necessary. The sting in her knees was an afterthought. Her fingers skimmed the inky hollow of the alleyway between the two buildings, and she was gone again—swallowed whole, then spat back out the other side. Another shadow. Another leap. Then another. And another! Faster! She had to be faster! Her body burned, lungs heaving against the cold air, legs screaming with each push.


    The city felt like it was conspiring against her, its labyrinth of light and angles slowing her pace at every turn. Her focus wavered, her mind flaring with a heat far sharper than the chill in her chest. Stupid!. Idiot! How could she be so fucking stupid?


    But Evelyn didn’t stop. She couldn’t. There was no room for hesitation, no time to give weight to the fire roaring in her heart. She pressed forward, even though her legs begged her to stop!


    Her chest tightened, though it wasn’t just the sprint stealing her breath. Isabella. Her face appearing at the surface of her mind: soft, open features framed by chestnut waves, emerald eyes catching light like wet leaves after rain, that faint scar slicing through her brow like a quiet warning. The memory of earlier, of the two of them alone in the lab stoked something hot and restless under Evelyn’s ribs, sharper than the ache from running.


    She’d met people like Isabella before. The ones who gave until there was nothing left, who carried the world on their shoulders with no thought for the weight. People like Kate. Evelyn swallowed hard, the taste of regret like ash in the back of her throat. She’d failed Kate—let her bright, stubborn light get snuffed out by forces she vowed to never let control her again! She wouldn’t let it happen again! Not to Isabella. Not this time!


    ***


    Isabella slammed her shoulder against the heavy metal door, its groan of resistance a mocking echo in the rising water. Her breath misted in the cold air as she turned her head to look at the green-glowing tanks, the pink crystals above casting flickering, jagged shadows across the slick walls. Water gushed steadily from the air vents, pooling around her boots, the bitter chill clawing at her calves.


    Jonah’s voice crackled over the intercom, smug and too steady for the chaos surrounding her.


    “Do you see it now, Doctor Hartley? The potential?” Jonah''s voice was low and electric, crackling with a confidence that was impossible to ignore.


    "We’re not just changing the game here—we’re making the rules. Imagine this: armies lining up to pay top dollar for a weapon that can dissolve anything. Ships, fortresses… bodies.” His words hung in the air, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.


    “A weapon you could slip into someone’s drink or pour into a city’s water system, and with the flick of a switch” His laugh was sharp, thin—like nails dragging across glass. It slid under Isabella’s skin, prickling her nerves.


    “Brilliant, isn’t it?” He finally said after taking a slow dramatic inhale.


    “Why, Jonah?” she shouted, her voice bouncing off the damp walls. She shoved at the door again, her fingers aching from the cold and the unyielding metal. “You were part of this team! We trusted you. I trusted you. You said you believed in what we were doing.”


    Jonah’s smirk was a calculated thing, sharp and deliberate, as he leaned casually against the observation window. His silhouette, back-lit by the sterile glow of the observation rooms lighting, was impossibly at ease for someone orchestrating a third murder. He twirled a pen between his fingers, the movement a careless flourish.


    “Why?” His voice carried a slow, deliberate cadence, each word weighted but unhurried. “Because believing doesn’t pay the bills, Isabella. I mean, sure, it’s all noble—the oceans, the planet, the whole save-the-world bit. But let’s not kid ourselves.”


    He gestured vaguely to the rising tide of water at Isabella''s knees, as though it was nothing more than an inconvenient spill. “Nobility doesn’t cut it when you’re broke, and this? This is worth billions.”


    Jonah rapped the glass with the blunt end of the pen, a deliberate, sharp rhythm that carried even through the muted hum of the observation room. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, anger flashed in his eyes—a flicker, gone as quickly as it appeared. He rolled the pen between his fingers like he was testing its weight, then gestured with it, almost casually, toward the rising waterline.


    “You trusted me because I was damn good at what I did.” His tone was calm, clipped, like he was reciting a fact rather than offering an apology. “Unconventional? Sure. But wasn’t that the charm? You even stuck your neck out for me whenever I had one of my alternative approaches.” He tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Remember Alan? How he hated it when I went—what was it?—‘off script’? You smoothed it over for me every time.”


    Jonah''s face drew closer to the glass, his voice dropping into something measured, almost confiding. “I gave you results. Worked double shifts. Triple, even, for Peterson. I made this algae even more that it needed to be. And now...” His smirk widened, though his tone stayed maddeningly steady. “Now I’m getting what I want. Win-win, really.”


    The algae lapped higher against the walls, the sound of it a sloshing undercurrent to his calm explanation.


    Jonah’s tone turned almost conversational, as if discussing the weather. “The funny thing is, you and the others? You were never going to make it work, not really. Too many ethics, too many lines you refused to cross. Progress demands sacrifices, Isabella. You know that as well as I do. I just… happened to choose a different set of sacrifices.”Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    He flicked the pen onto the table beside the camera and tripod, letting it clatter to rest. His gaze met hers through the thick glass, his eyes unflinching. “So here we are. You’re proving the algae works better than any graph or test tube ever could. And me? I get to walk out of here with the data and a very lucrative future. I’d call that poetic, wouldn’t you?”


    The water rose past her knees now, its icy grip biting through her lab coat and jeans. She fought to steady her breathing, her mind racing. The pink glow above intensified as the crystals pulsed in rhythm with the algae’s ominous, slithering movement at the bottom of the open growth tanks. The liquid shimmered, alive with an unsettling vibrancy, and she knew the reaction could spiral out of control.


    “You’re going to kill people, you have already killed people!” She said, the edge in her voice sharp enough to cut through his smirking indifference. “This isn’t innovation. It’s destruction. You’re risking everything we’ve worked for, everything this project stands for.”


    Jonah''s fingers tapping idly on the frame of the observation room window.


    “Spare me the righteous speech,” Jonah said, his voice carrying the lazy amusement of someone discussing last night’s game instead of life and death.“This was always going to happen, Isabella. If not me, then someone else with half a brain and twice the ambition would’ve cracked it. I’m just… efficient.”


    His eyes, cold and calculating, locked on her through the thick pane of glass, a predator studying its prey.


    “Let’s be honest—when this is over, the world won’t forget you. Doctor Isabella Hartley.” He drew out her name, each syllable sliding from his tongue with a precision that felt like a scalpel slicing through flesh.


    The smirk that followed wasn’t so much an expression as it was a weapon, sharp and gleaming. “Your algae—our algae—won’t be remembered for some sentimental crusade to save the planet. No. It’ll be infamous.”


    He straightened, his posture radiating an almost theatrical confidence. “A game-changer. And when that happens, your name will be on everyone’s lips.”


    His words settled like oil on water, slick and hard to wash away.


    She lunged at the door again, the metal refusing to budge. Her hands shook, not from the cold but from the simmering frustration burning in her chest.


    “Don’t do this,” Isabella said, her voice trembling like a taut line in a storm, the cracks in it cutting through her usual steadiness. Her chestnut waves framed her face. “Jonah, this isn’t you!" Her emerald eyes locked on his, searching for the boy she once believed in.


    “You’re young, talented. You have a future in science—a real one—waiting for you.” She drew in a shallow breath, her hands trembling as she fought to control the shaking in her voice.


    “If you go through with this,” she pressed on, leaning into each word as if sheer force could stop him, “that future is gone! You’ll be running for the rest of your life. Do you understand? No future, Jonah. None.”


    The room fell into a heavy silence, her words hanging in the air like a fragile buoy, one Jonah could still grab onto—if he wanted.


    For a fleeting moment, his smirk slipped, the edges softening into something unguarded—irritation, maybe, or the faintest ripple of doubt. It barely had time to breathe before vanishing, snuffed out by the practiced indifference that clung to him like cheap cologne. He turned back to the camera, fingers precise as they twisted the lens adjustment. The red recording light blinked with indifference, its pulse slicing the room into sterile beats.


    “You’re wasting your breath,” Jonah said, his voice light and sharp, curling through the room. His hand swept toward the camera, the motion deliberate, theatrical. The kind of move that begged for an audience, too smooth to be casual and too pleased with itself to be anything but practiced. A magician’s flourish, revealing a trick no one had asked for.


    “The experiment’s already underway.” He continued, his words drawn tight, each one a taut string ready to snap. He flicked his fingers toward the lens, a gesture hovering somewhere between mockery and menace.


    “This footage—” the corners of his mouth curled as if savoring the taste of his own cleverness—“will show buyers exactly what this algae can do. Unstoppable. Versatile. Deadly. The kind of product that doesn’t just sell itself—it demands to be bought.”


    His gaze lingered on Isabella, a silent dare that pushed without stepping close, his confidence stretching the space between them. The words hung there, slick and poisonous, as if daring the room to challenge them.


    He tilted his head, a cruel grin curling at the edges of his mouth. “Oh, the mob’s going to eat this up.”


    The algae in the tanks shifted, Isabella’s stomach churned as she caught the faint sickly sweet scent of decay in the air. The tissue sample being devoured flashed in her mind, fueling the panic and desperation in her thoughts and actions.


    “You won’t get away with this,” Isabella said, her voice steady despite the panic clawing at her throat. She shoved her damp hair from her face, eyes locking onto Jonah with a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Someone will stop you.”


    Jonah walked over and sat casually on the observation room table, his smirk a jagged edge in the fluorescent light.


    “And who’s that going to be? You?” His tone was slick, almost bored, but the malice underneath curled like smoke. “You’re too busy drowning. And Detective Blackwood? Let’s just say she’ll be... delayed.”


    The words hit her like ice, draining what little warmth her body had left. She clenched her fists. Evelyn—had he also done something to her? No! She had to be safe. Thoughts racing almost as fast as the water was rising. She waded toward the observation room window, her breaths sharp and fast. The mage-lights flickered erratically overhead, their glow adding to the distorted pinks and greens in the room.


    Isabella wadded towards the observation window, abandoning the door.


    “Jonah, stop this!” Isabella’s voice cracked, the edges of her words fraying as she pounded her palms against the unyielding glass. Each impact sent dull, resonant thuds through the observation room, swallowed by the rising water around her. It was cold—so cold her fingers started to feel numb. The cold seeped through her skin and bit deep into her bones.


    Her chestnut hair hung in wet ropes across her face, and her breaths came shallow, jagged. She locked eyes with Jonah on the other side of the glass, emerald against his dark brown. There was no mercy there anymore, no hesitation—just the steady arrogance of a man who already considered himself untouchable.


    “Why would I stop now?” Each of his words curled like smoke. “This is your life’s work, Isabella. Doesn’t it feel poetic? To see it in action, so intimately?”


    Her knees threatened to buckle, but she forced herself to stand, her body trembling as the water crept higher. The smell of salt and brine starting to dominate the room. The pounding in her chest matched the rhythm of the rising tide, each beat dragging her closer to an edge she couldn’t see.


    “Please, Jonah,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, even to herself. But the words hung there in the water, fragile and futile, swallowed by the cold. Tears joined the salt water running down her face as she rested her forehead against the glass window, her eyes staring directly into the camera lens now and she could feel the pleading look on her face.


    Her breath snagged mid-sob, a jagged sound that cut through the rhythmic gush of water rising around her. Pressing trembling fists to the glass, her knuckles blanched, each strike leaving faint, ghostly marks. She barely recognized the tight rasp of her own voice.


    “You’re killing people—murdering them—for data. Alan, Peterson…” Her voice fractured, the names falling from her lips like stones dropped into a void. She swallowed hard, but it only brought a bitter sting to the back of her throat. “And now me.” Her words dwindled to a trembling whisper, the fury in them fraying under the weight of disbelief. “This isn’t research, Jonah. This is madness.”


    Jonah tilted his head, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Madness is subjective. I call it marketable innovation.”


    Isabella looked down at the water, now swirling around her chest, her mind racing for any means of escape. Remembering the small pocket knife she had bought the week of Dr. Alan''s murder, a memory that felt like a lifetime ago. With shivering hands she reached under the water, feeling for the leather holster above her hip. She popped the retaining strap open and pulled the small handle from its holster. Clenching the handle in both hands she brought the sharp steel point at the base of the grip down against the observation room window. A deafening clang! reverberating through the chamber. She brought the handle up above her head and down again on the glass. Again. Again. Again. Again. The glass didn’t so much as crack, the tiny metallic tip at the base of the handle only leaving small chips. Nothing that could come close to breaking the glass.


    Jonah sighed audibly through the intercom, annoyance flickering across his composed face and he looked down at the camera''s viewfinder. “You’re too close to the glass. I can’t get a clean shot for the footage. Step back, would you?” he said whilst making and shooing motion with his free hand.


    “You sick—” Her words cut off by the loud glugging sounds emanating from behind her! The water had risen above the tops of the open algae growth tanks and had rushed in to eagerly fill the free space, dispersing the tanks docile contents into the flooding room. She struck the glass again, harder this time, desperation giving strength to her trembling arms.


    Her arms faltered mid-stroke, the muscles slackening as her gaze snagged on something shifting behind Jonah. At first, she dismissed it—a trick of the pulsing pink and glowing green light bouncing off the chipped glass? Maybe the distorted shimmer of the water around her? But the shape persisted, growing, moving with an unsettling, fluid rhythm that felt out of place.


    It pulled at something deep inside her, a strange, insistent familiarity that joined in with the panic hammering away at her heart. She froze, the air sticking in her throat. Her breath, shallow and tight, trembled between her lips as she realized the thing wasn’t just a smear of shadow in the corner. It was alive—growing, twisting. Moving with deliberate purpose.


    The shadows rippled, and for a heart-stopping second, it almost seemed to form…a gesture? The motion was disjointed, as though a flat, two-dimensional thing struggled to mimic something tangible, something human.


    Isabella’s chest tightened. Her mind screamed for her to focus on anything else—but her eyes widened, locked on the undeniable clarity of it. The shadow jerked again, sharper now. A sweep, unmistakable, like a hand slicing through murky water.


    Move back!


    The realization struck like a lightning bolt. Her frozen body jolted, the fire of adrenaline surging hotter through her icy veins. The flicker of hope was unbearable, almost cruel, but it burned bright enough to make her believe. Without a second thought, she sucked in a breath, her lungs protesting against the stale, damp air, and plunged under the rising water. She pushed herself away from the observation window, from Jonah’s smug silhouette, as far as the suffocating walls would allow. The cold clawed at her skin, leeching what little strength she had left. It pressed against her ears, her temples, but she kicked hard, every stroke fueled by sheer desperation.


    Jonah looked up for the camera, confusion plastered across his face....And then the room he was standing in erupted in shadows and rage!