Prague's sewers festered under Charles Bridge. Élise stumbled through sludge, guided by the scent of rotting roses. Her fever raged. Visions haunted her: Viktor drinking from her mother's throat- Clémence's flower shop burning - Lucien's golden hands dissecting her alive
Lucien gripped her waist. "Focus on Viktor's scent. Nothing else."
"I see her," Élise choked. "My mother. She's begging me to run…"
"Memory ghosts," Lucien said grimly. "Václav's poison plays tricks. Trust only me."
They found a bone-paved tunnel. Skull-lanterns flickered. Viktor's voice echoed from the dark: "Little Dubois. I've waited years to taste the blood that killed my master."
Viktor emerged. Young. Beautiful. Needle-fangs glistening. He wore the Vicomte's silver wolf pin.
"You stole his badge," Élise rasped.
"He promised me Paris," Viktor hissed. "You took that. Now I'll take your power." He lunged.
Lucien threw himself between them. Viktor's fangs tore his shoulder. Lucien cried out—then jammed a syringe into Viktor's neck. "Mercury nitrate. Enjoy paralysis."
Viktor collapsed, snarling. "You think you've won? Václav sent you here! He wants my research—"
Élise knelt beside him. The scent of roses choked her. "Why kill my mother?"
"She begged me to," Viktor laughed. "Said selling you to the Guild was her life's regret. So I granted her a mercy death." His eyes glazed. The poison worked.
Suddenly, clockwork rats swarmed the tunnel. Václav's voice boomed from their tiny speakers: "Excellent work! I'll collect Viktor. Your antidote is at the guild. Oh, and Élise? Your sister sends love…"
A hologram flickered above Viktor's body: Clémence, gagged and chained in a glass tank. Water rose to her chin.
"She drowns in one hour," Václav chirped. "Unless you bring me Viktor's research. Top floor of the Clock Tower. And Doctor? Come unarmed. Or I drop piranhas in the tank."
The hologram vanished. The rats scurried away.
Lucien pressed a rag to his bleeding shoulder. "It's a trap."
Élise stared at Clémence's terrified face in her mind. Her glowing scars pulsed hotter. The scent of roses sharpened—sweetness curdling into rage.
"Then we walk into it," she said softly. "And we make Václav regret ever knowing our names."
Above them, Prague's bells began to toll.