"It's good that you remember." Alia's voice was calm, but her expression was as cold as steel glazed with frost. "Since he's in a hospital, he needs regular checkups. Drawing a bit of blood shouldn't be hard at all, right? It's hardly a challenge."
She paused, lifted her chin slightly, and her tone shifted—now carrying a hint of testing. "I've done my part. Now it's your turn, isn't it? I've shown my sincerity. So—will you show me how you plan to do it?"
For a brief moment, silence filled the warehouse. The air seemed heavier, tinged with a suffocating chill.
Alia appeared composed, but her heartbeat had long lost its rhythm. She wasn't merely curious—she needed to see Jim's method, to understand what exactly he intended to do. Only then could she judge whether Marcellus still had a sliver of hope—and whether she could still act in time to save him.
Jim looked at her without speaking. His gaze swept across her face like a blade, dissecting every flicker of emotion—from her eyes, her breath, down to the faint tremor of her fingertips. His smile slowly faded, replaced by something deeper, darker, and far more dangerous.
"Are you joking with me?" he finally said, voice low and tight, every word bitten out like steel.
Alia met his gaze without flinching, without retreat. She knew exactly what kind of man Jim was—the kind of predator who would tear apart anything that showed weakness. To survive before someone like him, she had to display greed and ambition, not fear. Only then would he see her as one of his kind, not as prey.
She let out a small, unhurried laugh. "Do I look like I'm joking? I took a huge risk just standing here—do you think it's to listen to empty words? If you truly trust me, then show me."
Her tone wasn't sharp, yet there was a calm arrogance in it—a quiet certainty. The kind Jim was most familiar with, and most easily swayed by.
The warehouse sank into silence once more. Jim kept his eyes on her, weighing, measuring. The light from above cast half his face into shadow. Finally, he exhaled softly, and the faint curve of a smile returned to his lips—this time deeper, and more dangerous.
"All right," he said at last, voice low, carrying a trace of approval. "Since you're my teammate, there's no harm in letting you know. After all, this method only works for someone in Marcellus's condition."
He paused, giving her a long, meaningful look. The smile deepened. "Unless, of course—you happen to know someone else with that same condition. But that doesn't really matter."
The probing edge in Jim's smile made Alia's chest tighten. For an instant, she could feel the hidden blade behind his casual words. Though he spoke lightly, she could tell—his suspicion hadn't vanished. It had only dulled, blunted by her composure and the logic of her words.
He didn't necessarily trust her—but he trusted her greed, her ambition, and her motives. And for Jim, that was enough.
A soft laugh escaped him—a lazy, almost amused sound, as if to veil something, or savor the thrill of a hunter just before revealing the snare.
"Not here," he said, his tone suddenly relaxed, yet weighted with quiet authority. "I need to go somewhere else first. It has to be properly set up before we start."
He tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting. "So—do you dare to come with me?"