Chapter 68 The Chip's Echo
CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT
Rosanna pov-
I sat in an overstuffed chair, my silver hair reflecting the light of a single candle as my heart swelled at the sight of Valenticia sitting at the oak table, her long black hair falling about her shoulders, the glow of her Laptop throwing her face into shadow. Dr. Marrow’s mind chip—Lazareth’s endgame—whirred in her drive, its secrets like a sword poised over us both. I gripped my teacup tighter, the barely visible steam off the bergamot a frail comfort, fear thumping in my chest—what would it show me? Valenticia’s determination, her promise to uphold Eleanor and James, my daughter and son-in-law, was a fire I respected, yet Gregor Galden’s influence—his smear campaign, his serum schemes—darkened my doorstep. The mansion was suffocatingly silent, midnight hush like a weighted blanket, nothing between the soft creak of the floorboards and the sound of my voice as I leaned in a little closer, whispering, “Child are you ready?”
Valenticia’s eyes caught mine, jade hairpin flashing, fear and rage warring in her stare. “I have to be, Grandmother,” she said, her voice calm even though she sounded as if she might be trembling, she clicked the file the chip held and the screener’s screen rippled. My breath hitched, fear spiking as a grainy uploaded, a sterile lab forming around me—1999, Galden’s facility. A child on a gurney: small, sedated, her dark hair fan-shaped and My heart splintered—Valenticia. “Wipe her, Marrow—Subject V’s memories were a liability,” taunted Gregor, his voice calloused and detached. My eyes stung, and they glistened with tears; I stood up, my shawl slipping from my shoulder, and moving across to Valenticia. “My dear, dear,” I murmured, and held the warmth into my body, and for a little, she shook with her sobs against me. “You are Eleanor’s light — her strength.” She clung to me, a sob shuddered free, and I hugged her tighter, terror a maternal flame—he will pay for this!
The video now showed a document, Lazareth’s protocol, listing Dr. Lena Voss as Gregor’s ally, her signature on serum trials. My breath whooshed out, panic and anger shoving one another -- Lena, a traitor? Valenticia's voice wavered, "Voss… she… um… polished the cure." I drew myself up, determination edging my voice, “Let them show—Voss, Gregor all of them. They can’t hide.” Her nodd was adamant, girl was getting herself worked up but shit, sparks of it were igniting there, though fear clouded her eyes, mirroring mine— Gregor’s merciless, determined, impossible to stop. I returned to my chair, hands shaking, the teacup chinking in its saucer and watched her scroll the chip’s files, her fingers darting, every click a step closer to justice. I felt Eleanor trust in her, I thought, my heart aching as her taste was more of her daughter’s courage, a hedge against Galden’s darkness.
I grabbed Eleanor’s journal, the leather weathered from years of her caress, and pushed it across the table. “Read this, Valenticia,” I said, soft-voiced, “your mother wrote it for you.” She flicked it open and ran a finger over Eleanor’s elegant script to a marked passage; Valenticia, my star, you’ll shine through their lies. Her eyes shone, determination turning them to steel, and she whispered, “She knew I would fight.” My chest squeezed, pride and pain twisting together she’s her mother’s heir. I sipped my tea, letting the heat steady me, but fear pulsed—what if we’re too late? Gregor’s smear campaign, his estate lies, had been a noose drawing tight, and Natasha’s connections to Lazareth, Patel’s email, belonged to strands of a web we had not yet begun to unspool.
Stefan’s treachery, his café rendezvous with Natasha, hurt my faith too, a sting I concealed on Valenticia’s behalf. I’d believed in him, in his warm smile and his pledge to take care of her, but Marcus’s picture — his hand on Natasha’s — had broken that faith. “Child,” I murmured, voice low, “Stefan … be cautious.” Valenticia’s jaw flexed, agony passed across her face, and she dipped her head, her voice so low you could hardly hear it, “I pushed him away.” My heart broke for her, for her raw wound that his secret had become, and I wanted to shield her, but she had a battle to wage. She’s stronger than I was, I thought, Eleanor’s defiance in her blood, and I promised her I would make her more so, fear a fire I’d feed.
Through the files, the data of the chips was unspooling, memos, logs of trials, each was part of Gregor's machine. A video was flickering, Eleanor and James in a lab, their faces urgent, “Protect the antidote, Valenticia,” Eleanor said, her voice a rope. My tears slid down, silent, their offering I bore, as Valenticia’s hand crushed my own, her determination reflecting to them. They died for her, I thought, fear jabbing—will she make this? I stood and paced the library, trailing my shawl, the waves of Seryne rumbled distantly at the window. The chip was a road map to Lazareth, Gregor’s serum crib, and I hissed, “You keep digging, child—we’ll kill him. Valenticia nodded, the soft drone of her laptop a war cry, and I got behind her, hand on her shoulder, fearing a maternal bonfire.
One file was a blink label Seryne Auction, Lazareth Serum, and I gasped, fear snapping like lightning—an auction? The paper suggested a black-market sale, of Gregor’s weaponized serum to the highest bidder, a plot to use the serum to control minds and nations. I gripped the tabletop, my voice like a razor, “Valenticia, look, Gregor is selling Lazareth.” Her eyes widened, the two emotions of fear and fury warring, and she scrolled, details of the file thin but damning. He was unstoppable, I thought, fear pooling, but the determination in Valenticia’s promise to her parents would be a spark I’d fan. I swore to stand with her fight, I fear a mother's fire, burning to protect my granddaughter's light.