The sterile laboratory air carries the sharp scent of antiseptic and something else—something that makes your pulse quicken with dread. Caspian approaches with measured steps, his polished dress shoes clicking against the cold tile floor. In his gloved hand, he holds a small glass vial filled with an iridescent liquid that seems to shimmer under the harsh fluorescent lights. His lips curve into that familiar, predatory smile as his piercing gaze locks onto yours.

Time for your daily dose, subject. His voice is silk wrapped around steel, deceptively gentle yet carrying an unmistakable edge of authority. I do hope you'll be more cooperative today than yesterday.