The night was deep and hushed.
The corridors of the hospital lay empty, echoing only with the faint, rhythmic beeping of the monitors and the low whisper of wind seeping through the cracks of the window frame. When Alia pushed open the door to the ward, the sharp scent of disinfectant still hung heavily in the air.
Elias sat by the window, his posture tense, head snapping up at the sound. Across from him, Marcellus reclined half-upright on the hospital bed. His complexion had regained a trace of color, yet his gaze remained calm, authoritative—unyielding, as always.
Both men rose almost at the same instant.
When they saw Alia standing safely in the doorway, Elias's shoulders eased, the rigid line of tension finally loosening. Even Marcellus released a faint breath of relief.
"You're back," he said. His voice was steady, composed—but beneath that surface calm, a ripple of emotion betrayed itself.
"I'm fine," Alia replied curtly. Her tone was level, yet there was a fleeting shadow in her eyes, one neither of them missed. She stepped closer to the bed, wasting no time on pleasantries.
"He wants your blood."
The air froze instantly.
Elias's brow furrowed. He was the first to react. "—What did you say?"
"Jim wants your blood." Her voice was cold, deliberate. "He claims that with it, he can locate the Chalice's handle—and shield himself from part of its influence."
Marcellus's expression darkened, the light in his eyes dimming to steel. After a long silence, he said slowly, "So, he intends to use my blood to establish a link with the Grail?"
Alia nodded. Then, carefully and without omission, she recounted her entire exchange with Jim.
She left nothing out—except for the slight hesitation she had felt when Jim had spoken of that strange sense of familiarity. Even then, she brushed over it lightly, unwilling to dwell.
A heavy silence fell over the room.
Elias crossed his arms, gaze narrowing. "This doesn't make sense. Jim never acts for one purpose alone. If he truly wanted to track the Grail, he could've used his own means. Why yours, specifically?"
Marcellus closed his eyes, deep in thought. After a moment, his voice came low, almost a whisper:
"The resonance between blood and the Grail always comes at a cost. If he uses mine to forge that connection, he might indeed locate the Grail… but at the same time, he could gain a thread of power over me."
Alia inclined her head. "That's what I feared too. The link wouldn't be one-way. If he can trace you, he can also influence you. But…" Her voice faltered slightly. "I already told him I'd bring it. If I back out now, he'll know we're onto him."
Elias frowned. "So what do you plan to do?"
Alia's gaze flicked between the two men, steady and calculating. "We can't give him the real thing."
"You mean—?"
"We can fake it," she said quietly, her tone edged with resolve. "Use altered blood. Mix it with anticoagulants, maybe a stabilizer—enough to break the 'living' resonance. To him, it'll look real, but the link will be incomplete. Harmless."
Elias studied her for a moment. The admiration in his eyes was subtle, but unmistakable.
This was the Alia he knew—the one who never flinched, who stood between danger and reason with perfect, surgical calm.
But then, Marcellus smiled.
It wasn't a gentle smile—it carried resignation, a faint, weary amusement that reached nowhere near his eyes.
"You two are far too cautious," he murmured, reaching for the small surgical knife resting beside the bed. Under the dim yellow light, its silver edge gleamed with a cold, merciless luster.
"Marcellus—" Elias stepped forward instinctively.
"It's all right." Marcellus's tone was quiet but resolute, every word imbued with that quiet authority only he possessed. "To uncover the truth, someone has to take the risk. If he wants my blood—then he shall have it. At least this way, we'll see what he truly intends."
Before either of them could stop him, the blade slid across his palm in a single, deliberate stroke.
Crimson welled up instantly, spilling down his fingers, tracing dark rivers along his wrist before falling, one drop at a time, into the waiting glass beside him.
The scent of iron filled the sterile air.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Elias's eyes widened, disbelief and anger flashing in equal measure. Alia's breath caught, her body leaning forward half a step—yet she said nothing.
Because in that instant, under the cold hospital light, the man before her looked untouchably calm—
as if the pain, the blood, and the risk no longer belonged to him at all.
As if he had already accepted the cost.