Vivian had just left Zyren's office when he slowly rose to his feet, each movement calm yet marked by a quiet disgust. He reached into a cupboard and pulled out a folded cloth, dabbing at his hands and mouth with deliberate precision, as though scrubbing away something foul that had clung to him. His expression remained blank, but the subtle curl of his lip spoke volumes.
When he was done, he tossed the soiled cloth onto a nearby table, where it would later be collected without question. His next motion was swift—he pulled open another, smaller cupboard, his sharp gaze fixed on the single red vial nestled within.
He didn't hesitate. The vial was uncorked and drained in one tilt of his hand, the blood-colored liquid vanishing down his throat without so much as a blink. The effect was immediate.
His skin cracked open.
