Gérard gave a quiet chuckle.
"So we'll test it on someone else?"
"On donors… perhaps."
"Or on the condemned," he added with a faint smile.
"We could even use volunteers from the lower clans."
Gérard straightened; his silhouette in the lamplight seemed even taller, almost inhuman. He turned fully toward Corvin, eyes sharpening like blades.
"Explain it again," he said calmly, but with the unmistakable tone of command.
"For the record."
Corvin drew a deep breath; his chest rose beneath the coat. When he spoke, it was clear and measured, like delivering a report to the council chamber,every word weighed, honed.
"These are fragments of a modified vampire soul."
"Pure predatory essence."
He nodded toward the capsules, and a trace of pride flickered in his voice.
"We extracted it from the oldest specimens.
Separated it. And managed to stabilize it."
Gérard remained silent, watching him with a slight squint,as though evaluating not only the words but the speaker's very soul.
"If we implant it into a new host…" Corvin continued, counting off on his fingers.
"…we get a being similar to a Wendigo,yet the specimen retains reason. There is also the possibility of collective control."
"Collective?" Gérard repeated, and for the first time something like genuine surprise colored his voice.
"Yes. They will sense one another.
Like bees…"
The study grew quieter still.
Even the fire in the hearth seemed to dim; its crackle faded, giving way to a thick, viscous silence.
The shadows on the walls stretched longer, and to Ethan watching from afar, it seemed as though they moved of their own accord, echoing the slow writhing of the capsules.
"Do you understand what this is?" Gérard asked, turning completely toward Corvin. His eyes had turned icy, like winter wind sweeping over the city.
"Yes," Corvin said.
"A new stage…" He raised an eyebrow.
"No," Gérard interrupted.
He took a step closer; the tails of his coat swayed slightly, and a faint scent of incense and old parchment drifted through the air.
"This is a weapon against ourselves."
Corvin held his gaze without blinking.
"Only if we lose control."
"And we will lose it," Gérard said calmly.
"We always do."
He looked back at the capsules; his fingers hovered above them like a chess player contemplating pieces.
"But…" he added more softly, almost thoughtfully, "…if we do not create it first, someone else will."
Corvin nodded, lowering his eyes.
"Exactly."
Gérard closed the container.
The click rang louder than it should have, echoing through the room like the final chord of a symphony.
He walked to the wall safe,an old mechanical one with a massive combination dial and a heavy key dangling from a chain. Metal scraped as he turned the handle.
"After the election," he said without turning.
"We begin the testing phase."
Corvin bowed his head slightly.
"Yes."
"And the boy?" Gérard asked suddenly; his voice dropped lower, yet grew sharper,like a needle piercing fabric.
Corvin froze; his back stiffened.
"Which one?"
Gérard turned slowly, with serpentine grace. A cold, calculating smile touched his lips.
"There is one who has begun to suspect something. Maria's lover."
"He is not a threat," Corvin said.
But the words came too quickly, too hastily,like those of a man lying to himself.
Gérard's smile widened, revealing the tips of his fangs, sharp as razor edges.
"Then why haven't you eliminated him?"
Silence fell, dense and heavy.
"He could be useful," Corvin finally said, the words escaping with visible effort.
Gérard nodded, resting his hand on the closed container; his fingers stroked the metal almost tenderly.
"That's what I thought."
"Sometimes… the best carriers are the ones who come to us on their own."
Gérard added quietly, glancing toward the window as though he knew Ethan was out there in the darkness, though it was likely only a guess.
"Find him. And do not kill him."
A pause.
"Not yet. Wait, I have something else to show you…"
Corvin inclined his head.
"Understood."
Silence settled over the study.
In the neighboring building, Ethan slowly lowered the binoculars. His hands were shaking,not from the cold, but from the fury now boiling in his veins.
"What the hell is going on in there… I couldn't read their lips at all…" he thought, clenching his fists.
Ethan slowly raised the binoculars again, but the motion cost him effort,as though his arms had turned to lead, as though every muscle resisted what he was about to see next.
His fingers trembled not from cold.
Not from fatigue.
From something far worse,from that same premonition when everything inside coils into a tight knot and the heart suddenly beats not in rhythm, but in panic.
As though he already knew that something irreversible was about to happen.
The lenses found the window again.
The edge of the curtain swaying in the draft. The fireplace shadow dancing on the wall like a living, malevolent thing.
He held his breath, not for clearer focus, but because breathing had suddenly become painful.
In the study, Gérard stood with his back to the window, motionless as an ice statue. Corvin remained at the side of the desk, arms at his sides, but his shoulders were so tense it seemed the fabric of his coat might tear.
Gérard traced a finger along the safe's lid,slowly, almost tenderly, as though the metal might respond to his touch.
"You're too tense, Corvin."
"That isn't like you."
Corvin straightened almost imperceptibly. His voice came out dull, strained:
"The project is entering the final stage."
"I don't want any mistakes."
"Mistakes have already been made," Gérard replied calmly, mercilessly.
"Otherwise Maria would never have gotten so close."