Jim was silent for a moment, the corner of his lips curving into a faint, unreadable smile. He lifted his head and fixed his gaze on Alia, as though weighing something carefully in his mind.
"Of course—" he began slowly, his tone low, carrying an undertone of something neither warmth nor threat, "I wasn't supposed to tell you this."
He turned away from her and walked toward a rusted metal shelf at the side of the room. The dim, yellow light of the hanging lamp stretched his shadow long across the wall, distorting it into a strange, twisted shape.
"But you're my teammate," Jim continued, his voice softening slightly—whether with trust or deliberate calculation, Alia couldn't tell. "So I'll tell you."
Then he turned back around, and his eyes, sharp as a blade, locked directly onto hers.
"When your blood comes into contact with the Holy Grail," he said quietly, "you form a bond with it."
His words lingered in the air, smooth yet carrying a strange pull, as if each syllable resonated in the hollow space of the warehouse.
"Even if the Grail disappears, you'll still have a way to find it—like a connection between blood and soul. More importantly…" He paused, and that faint smile returned to his lips. "Those who have done so can resist part of its influence—they won't be completely devoured."
Alia froze. For a heartbeat, her pulse seemed to stop altogether.
Jim didn't notice the subtle shift in her expression. He went on, his tone laced with a peculiar blend of regret and mockery.
"What's interesting," he said, letting out a low chuckle that echoed through the warehouse like a draft through stone, "is that Marcellus somehow knew this method. No—he shouldn't have. The cup handle is a very special part of the Grail. It can trigger partial reactions even before full awakening. So perhaps it wasn't Marcellus who acted consciously at all… perhaps it was the Grail's own power influencing him."
As he spoke, a cold gleam flashed through his eyes—just for a moment—but it carried the weight of something buried deep, maybe a secret, maybe a memory he couldn't name.
Alia said nothing. Her breathing was so faint it nearly vanished into the air. Her fingers trembled slightly at her side as the implications of his words struck her all at once.
—The bond between blood and the Holy Grail.
—The possibility that Marcellus had been influenced.
—And Jim's unnervingly certain tone.
Each thought peeled back another layer of the fog, only to reveal a darker unknown beneath.
Her mind was suddenly in turmoil. For a fleeting moment, she even doubted herself—had Marcellus truly been unaware of what he was doing? Or had he… hidden something all along?
She lowered her head, masking the flicker in her eyes, and said quietly, her voice calm and even, "It seems the Holy Grail's secrets run deeper than any of us imagined."
Jim glanced at her, the corners of his mouth tilting upward in a half-smile. "Deeper? No, my dear—" he murmured, almost tenderly, "this is only the beginning."
Alia didn't respond. She merely lifted her gaze slightly, eyes reflecting the unsteady flicker of the hanging lamp above. The light and shadow wove across her face, hiding her expression. Yet deep within, unease began to spread like ink through water—she could only hope that Marcellus hadn't lied to her. That everything… had truly been unintentional.