Harold was already awake when the sun began to creep in through the kitchen window, light catching the edge of the counter as he moved between stove and sink. Oil shimmered in the skillet before he cracked the eggs in, the smell following almost immediately. Toast browned in the other pan. Coffee brewed stronger than usual. He had been unable to sleep and was regretting it this morning.
He checked the clock without meaning to, then checked it again.
Sarah wandered in a few minutes later, hair tied back, eyes still heavy with sleep. She stopped short when she saw the table already set and frowned at it like it might be a trick.
"You're up early," she said.
"So are you." he chuckled.
She narrowed her eyes, then sat and ate without comment, pushing food around the plate more out of habit than hunger, and the lack of complaints told him she was still turning yesterday afternoon over in her head. He didn't press her. This early, the silence felt safer than answers.
They finished without much conversation. Harold rinsed the dishes and set them in the rack, listening to the quiet hum of the house, then reached for his jacket.
"Grab your shoes," he said.
Sarah leaned back in her chair. "Why." she asked.
"We need a few things," he said simply.
"For what." she asked mulishly.
He paused, weighing explanation against time. "For something I'm working on. Another piece of proof."
She groaned and tipped her head back. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what." he asked questionably. The smile on his face said he knew what he was doing.
"Being mysterious before eight in the morning." she accused.
He smiled faintly. "You'll survive."
They walked instead of driving, the neighborhood still quiet enough that their footsteps sounded louder than they should have. Dew clung to the grass, and the air carried just enough bite that Sarah shoved her hands into her sleeves as they went.
The corner store came first.
Harold gathered distilled water, salt, honey, a cheap first-aid kit, and a bottle of antiseptic, stacking them carefully on the counter while the cashier rang them up without a second glance. He looked for ginseng out of habit, then shook his head and moved on. He'd have to substitute.
Sarah eyed the collection. "This is either very boring or very concerning."
"Both," he said, chuckling. "Depends on who you ask."
They cut through the park next. Harold knelt near the tree line, brushing aside leaves until he found what he wanted, pulling up dull green plants with narrow stems and dirt still clinging to the roots.
"Those are weeds," Sarah said.
"These," he said happily. "are ingredients."
"You dragged me out here for weeds." she accused. "I could be practicing."
"Dont forget the water." he added happily.
"And honey," she added.
He didn't respond but he didn't work to hide his smile.
At the creek, he crouched and filled a small jar, screwing it on and taking longer than necessary. His hands shook just enough that he had to steady them against his knee.
Sarah noticed. "You okay?"
"Just tired," he said. It wasn't the whole truth, but it wasn't a lie.
She didn't argue, but she stayed closer on the walk back, matching his pace without comment.
By the time they reached the house, the clock had turned unfriendly.
Sarah dropped her bag on a chair and moved quickly through the kitchen. "I need my permit."
"It's on the counter." he yelled as he walked into the garage to drop the ingredients off.
She grabbed it and slung her backpack over one shoulder. "I still don't know why you needed half of that."
"You don't need to yet." he chuckled. "You'll find out tonight."
She paused, hand on the knob. "You're going to be okay?"
He looked at her for a moment and nodded to her. "I'll be ok, go get Josh and Beth please."
She studied him a moment longer, then nodded. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."
"I won't." but his hand shaking betrayed the lie.
She snorted. "That's a lie."
The door shut behind her, and the house settled into silence again.
Harold took a moment to gather himself then walked back into the garage.
The space smelled faintly of oil and old grain. Brewing equipment lined one wall, clean and organized the way he liked it. Stainless steel. Glass. Tubing coiled neatly on hooks. It wasn't impressive, but it was familiar, and familiarity mattered.
If this was going to work, it had to be exact.
He laid the ingredients out on the workbench and rested his hands on the edge, eyes closed.
Something stirred.
Not the surge he remembered from Gravesend. Nothing like that. Just a faint thread of sensation running through his chest and down his arms, so weak he might have dismissed it if he hadn't known what to look for. Luckily it was something he had used for years and was very sensitive to.
It had been there before. Maybe always.
People had brushed against it for centuries without naming it. Monks. Ascetics. Stories of men who healed faster or endured longer than they should have. Different words for the same thing.
On Gravesend, it had been loud and brash before it had been taught to move smoothly.
Here, it whispered.
He opened his eyes and began.
Clean the glass. Prepare the ingredients. Measure the portions. Preheat the hot plate.
His hands remembered even if his body didn't. The motions returned in order, one flowing into the next, and he didn't rush them. The sensation in his body was difficult to sense but he couldsense it.
The potion had never been powerful. It needed the perks to be useful. It was barely functional. Just enough to push the body to finish what it had already started. Accelerated natural healing, nothing more.
He didn't know if it would work here. He had to work exactly to make it work.
On Gravesend, anyone could attempt anything. Lords could craft, crafters could lead, but perks made the difference. A crafter without support could never match one who had it, just as a crafter would never rival a true Lord in command.
He adjusted ratios on the fly, mental math ticking along as he substituted what didn't exist here for what did. The same faint energy pulsed in some of the ingredients. It was weak and diluted but it was present.
He felt it resonate as they came together. He had to be precise with his mana control, empowering exactly but it worked.
He stirred slowly, timing each rotation by breath instead of seconds, watching for changes almost too subtle to see. A shift in sheen. A change in resistance. Something not breaking down like it should.
Right at the edge of boiling, he pulled it from the heat and let it settle.
The liquid cleared. Not perfectly but alive enough and he knew it would work.
He poured it into a small glass vial and sealed it just as something flickered at the edge of his vision. A familiar sensation, like a notification he wasn't meant to see.
Then it was gone.The front door opened and voices carried down the hall. Luggage bumped against the wall. Laughter, nervous and loud.
"Harold?" Josh called.
Harold set the vial down and exhaled.