Mr. Carlson entered the room with quiet authority.
Behind him, a maid carried a silver tray.
On it sat a glass bottle filled with something black and shifting — not quite liquid, not quite smoke. The substance curled against the glass like it was alive, pressing and recoiling in slow spirals.
Eline's eyes locked onto it immediately.
The moment the tray was placed on the table, the black substance seemed to pulse faintly.
It reminded him of the Black Diamond fruit he had seen before — but that had been solid. Dense. Real.
This was vaporous.
Unstable.
Dangerous.
Eline lifted his gaze to Mr. Carlson — and paused.
For the first time, the man wasn't wrapped in heavy coats and layered darkness. No thick fabrics, no dramatic silhouette.
Just a silk shirt and trousers.
Relaxed.
Simple.
And yet the authority hadn't diminished.
If anything, it felt sharper.
As if he didn't need the armor anymore.
Mr. Carlson gave a slight nod to the maid. She set the tray down and left the room without a word.
Eline glanced at the bottle again.
How many more things do they expect me to drink?
Red. Purple. Now this.
Were they preparing him?
Or preserving him?
He couldn't tell anymore.
They said he wouldn't die.
They said he was necessary.
But necessary didn't mean safe.
His thoughts spiraled.
They wanted him to bear a child.
Which meant…
His jaw tightened.
He studied Mr. Carlson again.
Yes, the man was composed. Striking. Calm in a way that felt deliberate.
But that didn't change anything.
This wasn't choice.
This wasn't mutual.
This wasn't something Eline had agreed to.
It was expectation forced onto him.
Eline straightened slightly, forcing his expression neutral.
If he couldn't leave yet, then he would watch.
Listen.
Wait.
And calculate
Mr. Carlson's voice cut through the silence.
"Drink the potion."
Eline hesitated.
His fingers tightened at his sides. "Isn't this a bit excessive?" he asked, trying to keep his tone steady. "First the bath. Then the red potion. And now this?"
His gaze flicked to the swirling black vapor trapped inside the glass.
Mr. Carlson didn't look offended. He looked patient.
"No," he replied calmly. "Each one has a purpose. None of them will harm you."
His voice lowered slightly.
"These are preparations, Eline. Not weapons. We are not slaughtering you."
There was something almost reassuring in the way he said it — almost.
"You may lower your guard," Carlson added. "You are not in danger."
Eline didn't fully believe him.
But he stepped forward anyway.
He picked up the bottle, aware that Carlson's eyes were already on him. The pressure of that gaze made his movements feel heavier.
He twisted the cap.
The moment it opened, black vapor surged upward, spilling into the air like ink dispersing in water. It didn't drip. It didn't pour.
It breathed.
The smoke coiled around Eline's face, slipping past his lips, brushing against his skin. Within seconds, the bottle was empty — the contents completely evaporated.
Eline blinked.
He looked at Carlson, confusion flashing across his expression.
"I didn't even drink it," he said quietly. "How is that supposed to—"
"It is not meant to be swallowed," Carlson interrupted. "It recognizes its master. It binds on its own."
His eyes darkened slightly.
"You've already taken it."
A faint warmth began to spread through Eline's chest.
"Wait," Eline said quickly. "Before anything else… I need to ask you something."
Carlson looked mildly displeased at the interruption — but he nodded.
"Go on. I'm listening."
Eline gestured awkwardly. "Can we sit? It's strange, you standing there like that. I… I need clarity."
After a brief pause, Carlson sat opposite him.
Eline took a breath.
"Do you know why I came here?"
Carlson's expression barely shifted. "It is likely irrelevant," he said. "Though fortunate. You have no idea how many years I have searched for you."
The words unsettled him.
"You know the man who sent me?" Eline continued. "He told me I was dying. That I needed a heart replacement. That something was wrong with my blood."
Carlson's gaze sharpened.
"There is nothing wrong with your heart," he said evenly. "And there is nothing 'wrong' with your blood."
A pause.
"It is simply… rare."
Eline frowned.
"Rare how?"
Carlson's lips curved faintly. "You were not made ordinary."
The warmth in Eline's body deepened — spreading to his limbs, his thoughts beginning to blur at the edges.
"You're not going to die," Carlson added. "You may rest assured."
But as the words reached him, Eline's vision softened.
The room tilted slightly.
His heartbeat felt louder, heavier.
"This wasn't supposed to—" he murmured.
His body gave in before his mind did.
He slumped forward.
Carlson caught him effortlessly.
For a moment, Carlson studied him with faint irritation.
"That's… unexpected," he muttered. "The potion was designed to heighten awareness, not dull it."
He looked down at Eline, now resting against him.
"How did this miscalculate?"
As if in response, Eline's eyelids fluttered open.
He found himself half-reclined, his head resting against Carlson's arm.
Their faces were closer now.
Too close.
Eline's breathing slowed, heavy and uneven.
Carlson's gaze met his.
And for a brief, suspended moment, neither spoke.
The air felt charged.
Not romantic.
Not gentle.
Just intense.
Eline's eyes searched his — confusion, defiance, and something else he couldn't quite name flickering beneath the surface.
Carlson did not look away.
Eline's eyelids fluttered.
For a second, everything was blurred — warmth, fabric, the steady rise and fall beneath his cheek.
Then he focused.
He was in Mr. Carlson's arms.
His head rested against Carlson's lap, one arm supporting his back.
Their faces were close.
Too close.
Eline blinked slowly — and then he saw it.
Carlson's eyes.
They flickered.
Not metaphorically.
Actually flickered.
A deep crimson glow burned through them, sharp and luminous like polished ruby catching firelight.
And this time, the red didn't vanish immediately.
It lingered.
Eline stared.
His thoughts felt slow, heavy, like honey in his veins. His voice, when he spoke, came out softer — hazy, almost drunken.
"Your eyes…" he murmured, blinking lazily. "They're like ruby. Almost shining."
Carlson stilled.
There was something in Eline's tone — not fear. Not accusation.
Admiration.
Unfiltered.
And bold.
Carlson had expected trembling. Resistance. Panic.
Not this.
His gaze sharpened slightly.
Eline squinted at him, tilting his head a little, studying him as if the glowing eyes were the most fascinating thing in the world.
"Why are you looking at me like you're about to eat me?" he asked suddenly, a faint, unfocused smile tugging at his lips.
Carlson's brow lifted.
"I'm not tasty," Eline continued, voice light, almost playful. "Though… I probably have too much fat. Grilled meat tastes better, right?"
A small, breathy laugh escaped him — completely out of place.
Carlson stared down at him, stunned for a brief second.
"You," he said slowly, "have a remarkable ability to ruin even the most intense moment."
Eline blinked up at him, unfazed.
"What made you think I would eat you?" Carlson asked, his tone low, measured.
"The way you're looking at me," Eline replied dreamily. "Those eyes… they're red, but they look like they want to swallow me whole."
He gave a soft, crooked smile.
"But how could you?" he added, almost whispering. "I'm being ridiculous."
A small laugh bubbled out again — dazed, unfiltered.
He was still in Carlson's arms.
Still looking directly into those crimson eyes.
And this time, Carlson didn't look away.
The red glow slowly dimmed — but not completely.
There was something else in his gaze now.
Not hunger.
Not anger.
Interest.