The scent of ripe tomatoes, bell peppers, and fresh cilantro still clung faintly to the air of Cyril Ravenshade's private research lab the following evening. Alya was back inside the Tier-4 Containment Field, feeling less like a research subject and more like a bizarre organic 3D printer.
"Today, we attempt to override the subconscious," Cyril announced, his voice cool and utterly scientific. He hadn't bothered with the intercom; he simply leaned against the control panel, his intense gaze never leaving her. "I want you to materialize an object of pure emotional neutrality. A single, unpolished stone pebble. Feel nothing. Desire nothing. Achieve the void."
Alya closed her eyes, channeling the golden energy. Void. Zen. Empty. She imagined the dry, uninteresting grayness of a desert stone. No food. No crests. No professors.
The energy condensed, but instead of the neutral gray she sought, it formed something warm and distinctly sweet-smelling in her palm.
She opened her eyes and groaned.
"A perfectly braided challah loaf," Cyril reported, his expression deadpan as Alya tossed the bread to join the pile of vegetables. "A complex carbohydrate, often associated with communal celebration and security. Your core manifests stability through social ritual, Stellaria. Still, molecular rearrangement of yeast and wheat at that speed is unprecedented."
Alya wanted to scream. "It's not stability, Sir Cyril! It's anxiety baking!"
Cyril crossed the floor, retrieving the challah. His fingers brushed the pile of soft, fresh produce. "We need to go deeper. The subconscious is resisting the logical mind. We must find the core's true weakness."
He brought a portable sensor pad up to the glass of the Containment Field. "We will try a focused, physical suppression."
He stepped closer, unlocking the glass door with a hiss. Alya braced herself for the contact.
Cyril didn't grab her wrist this time. He moved with the focused precision of a surgeon. He placed one hand flat against her lower back, just above the curve of her waist, and the other, cold and analytical, settled directly over the spot where her silver core ring rested on her palm.
A shudder ran through Alya. The proximity was overwhelming, forcing her into an intimacy that had nothing to do with science. His breath was warm near her ear as he leaned in to murmur instructions.
"Channel, Stellaria. I am using my own elemental energy to create a controlled pressure field around your core. It will feel constricting. Do not fight the pressure; channel into it."
Alya felt the controlled, overwhelming force of Cyril's power. It wasn't the chaotic blast of Damon and Elias; it was a pure, stable violet energy, wrapping around her own golden core like an impossibly strong vine.
The feeling was electric, dizzying. Her skin felt too hot, her senses magnified by the intense, shared focus. Cyril's touch on her back was firm, grounding her, while his hand on her wrist was a conduit, directing her raw, chaotic power.
"Release the energy. Focus on a simple, inert metal," he commanded, his voice tight.
Alya gasped, pushing her chaotic core against the stabilizing pressure. She was channeling metal, but her subconscious, trapped and desperate for escape, was thinking of the impending political crisis.
Damon's loss. The trade deal. The Royal Auction.
A sudden, sharp metallic clink sounded in her palm.
When Cyril lifted his hand, Alya looked down. Instead of a nail, she held a solid, heavy iron carriage bolt.
It was a failure of the initial goal, but a magnificent, non-organic success.
Cyril stared at the bolt, his eyes wide. He dropped his hands immediately, stepping back a full pace, his face pale with exertion. The intense energy had left him visibly shaken.
"An iron carriage bolt," he breathed, retrieving the object with tongs. "A functional component for heavy transport. Highly durable, entirely utilitarian." He scribbled notes, ignoring the flush on Alya's cheeks. "The suppression field forced your core to manifest utility instead of survival."
Alya leaned against the glass, trying to calm her racing heart. She realized her constant failures were actually the key to his loyalty: The more chaotic and unpredictable her core, the more time and physical contact he required to study her.
I am succeeding by failing gracefully.
"Tomorrow, we test the effects of external stimuli," Cyril announced, his professional mask firmly back in place. "The final piece of information I need before the Royal Auction is the full breakdown of Prince Damon's Western trade contract."
Alya nodded, but her thoughts were already racing ahead, fueled by the memory of the iron carriage bolt.
A heavy transport component...
In the novel, Damon's immense trade deal with the Western Kingdom—critical for funding royal defenses—failed spectacularly because a massive shipment of enchanted iron ore was replaced by useless stone slag during transport. The carriage bolts securing the shipment crates were cut and replaced with substandard materials, but the blame fell on Damon's management. This event cemented the kingdom's distrust of him.
I know exactly where and when that shipment is being prepared for transit in the lower docks. I have less than six weeks. Alya realized her golden core, manifesting utility under pressure, might be exactly what she needed to save Damon's reputation, which was her only route to his loyalty.
Leaving the Ravenshade Wing, Alya's path crossed with Elias, the Knight. He wasn't in his usual pristine academy uniform; he was dressed in a heavy, practical leather tunic, his red hair damp with sweat. He was talking rapidly into a small communication crystal, his expression shadowed with frustration and anger.
He wasn't speaking about her or the Containment Field.
"I don't care about their excuses, Father! It was supposed to be secured! The theft of the Amulet of Oaths is an utter disgrace to our House of Redmane! It was under my personal watch. I failed."
Elias slammed his hand against a nearby wall, his Earth magic leaving a faint scorch mark.
Aha! Alya's internal plot alarm screamed. The Knight's Crisis!
She knew this event. The Amulet of Oaths was an irreplaceable artifact crucial to the Redmane family's honor and Elias's entire lineage. Its theft in the novel was followed by a series of attacks on Redmane property by a mysterious 'vigilante' group, which Elias spent the entire middle section of the book trying to hunt down. This was the moment that brought Elias to the brink of ruin, forcing him to rely on Lunessa's emotional support, which deepened their bond.
The loyalty quest is accelerating, Alya thought. Damon's crisis is political security; Elias's crisis is honor. If I solve both, I gain two male leads. But I have to find the Amulet of Oaths.
Elias spotted her, and his anger instantly cooled into cold suspicion.
"Stellaria," he said, his voice flat. "It appears your bizarre experiments are going well."
"They are... illuminating," Alya replied, trying to appear unthreatening. She gave him a small, genuinely sympathetic look, using her meta-knowledge to inform her expression. "A theft of something valuable can be devastating, Knight Elias. I hope whatever you are seeking is recovered swiftly."
Elias narrowed his eyes, clearly unnerved by her sudden, sincere understanding. "Stay out of my way, Stellaria. My focus is on justice, not chaos." He spun and marched away, leaving Alya alone with the knowledge of his deep distress.
Alya smiled slightly, a cold, strategic glint in her red eyes. She had two targets and six weeks.
"Justice, Knight Elias," she whispered to the empty corridor. "Justice starts with me finding your shiny thing before Lunessa gets a chance to mend your broken heart."