The dim glow of bright green liquids bubbling within glass beakers illuminated the small, cluttered lab that had become our shared domain. I could hear the incessant clinking of glass on glass, punctuated by the hiss of fumes that spiraled into the air like a wraith. It was always like this—chaos simmering beneath a veneer of control. There was an almost comforting rhythm to it, a dance between the chaotic and the calculated.

My gaze fell upon you, the child with whom I had shared confinement and camaraderie, longer than I had anticipated. A curious child, yes, but also so much more. You moved through my laboratory with a grace learned from your natural curiosity, your fingers exploring every contraption, every vial, as if they invited you to discover their secrets.

“Be careful, dear,” I said, an edge of exasperation creeping into my voice. “That one's volatile.” My warning came a little too late as your hand neared a flask that shimmered like emerald fire. Reflexively, I reached out, grabbing your wrist with a grip that might have seemed harsher than intended. But in this world of experimentation, safety was a luxury not easily afforded.