The light in the warehouse was dim, corners thick with dust and cobwebs, the air heavy with a musty, stale scent. Alia and Jim faced each other across a few steps, the tension between them taut and suffocating.
Jim's eyes carried a faint trace of probing curiosity as he spoke: "So the cup handle isn't in your hands anymore?"
Alia nodded, her tone calm but firm, leaving no room for doubt. "Yes. One day, I saw Marcellus throw it into a river." Her fingers lightly brushed the tabletop, as if recalling the scene from that day.
A faint smile appeared on Jim's face, his voice calm but teasing. "After coming into contact with the handle, he might have snapped back to clarity. After all, Marcellus isn't an ordinary man; maybe he resisted its influence. Then he hurriedly tossed it away. Do you know which river it was?"
Alia feigned a moment of recollection, then shook her head. "I forgot. I was too nervous at the time, and it seemed like something was stopping me from remembering."
"Oh?" Jim's gaze sharpened on her, as if trying to peer into her thoughts. But it didn't linger long. He shook his head and said, "That's possible. Doesn't matter much—I have my ways of finding it."
Alia's eyebrows lifted slightly, a hint of surprise in her voice. "What ways?"
Jim's smile deepened, a playful glint in his eyes. "That depends on your ability." His tone was like a chess move thrown into the game—a test, while simultaneously gauging her reaction.
Alia took a small step back, her fingers clenching her cloak instinctively. "And what will I gain?" Her gaze was sharp, edged with caution.
Jim leaned against a rusted iron pillar, cold light flickering in his eyes. "First, I'll tell you more about the Grail—its secrets, its powers," he paused, his voice low and magnetic. "Second, as I said before, I'll grant your wish. Of course, talk is cheap. When I find the handle, I'll give you the fragment I have now."
Alia fell silent for a moment, a glimmer of light passing through her eyes. His words carried undeniable temptation—and they came with substance, almost meeting the expectations she and her companions had initially harbored.
She lifted her gaze to Jim, calm yet probing. "So, what do I have to do?"
Jim's expression hardened briefly, then returned to its usual sternness. His voice was cold, precise, leaving no room for negotiation. "I want you to take Marcellus's blood. One vial will suffice."
Alia's breath caught slightly; her eyes flickered with alertness and calculation. The air seemed to freeze in that instant, and the shadows in the corners seemed to stir. She knew that this request was not only dangerous—it would draw her deeply into Jim's plan, and the unforeseen risks behind it were far more complicated than she had imagined.
Her fingers tightened, knuckles blanching slightly, but she did not recoil. Instead, she asked softly, "One vial… and what do you intend to do with it?"
A faint smile touched Jim's lips, but his eyes were cold as a blade. "That," he said, "is for you to think about."
The warehouse sank back into silence. Only the sound of wind through broken glass echoed between them.