Chapter 479: The Fifty–Fifty Gamble

Chapter 479: The Fifty–Fifty Gamble

(Third person's POV)

Back at the mansion, the team was busy. A book laid open on the long oak table like a living thing, its pages yellowed, edges curled, ink darkened by age and magic. It didn’t belong to this era—everyone in the room felt that much instinctively. The air around it was heavier, humming faintly, as if the runes etched into the parchment were aware they were being read again.

Stella stood at the head of the table, one hand braced against the wood, the other slowly tracing the symbols she had memorized over countless nights. Her eyes were rimmed red from lack of sleep, but there was a clarity in them now that hadn’t been there before.

“This is it,” she said quietly.

Taylor, seated beside her, lifted her head. She had been grinding dried leaves with a mortar, her movements precise, almost mechanical. “You’re sure?”

Stella nodded. “As sure as I can be. The book describes only one method that doesn’t destroy the host body outright, without involving a third party, me. It speaks of a suspension powder. It forces the soul inside into a dormant state.”

Killian leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, expression dark. “Dormant,” he repeated flatly. “Or dominant.”

Stella didn’t flinch. “Yes. Or dominant.”

That was the part no one wanted to say out loud.

Theresa exhaled slowly, fingers curling tighter around the strap of her satchel. “So it’s a coin toss.”

“Fifty–fifty,” Stella confirmed. “Marcus either wakes up as himself… or the thing inside him takes full control permanently.”

Silence followed. Not the awkward kind. The heavy kind. The kind that pressed against the ribs and made breathing feel deliberate.

Brian broke it first, pacing once before stopping near the window. “And if we do nothing?”

“Then the possessed Marcus continues,” Alec said, voice steady but grim. “And the longer that thing stays in him, the harder it will be to remove. The book was clear about that.”

Killian’s jaw clenched. He looked at Stella. “And if the spirit wins?”

Stella swallowed. “Then we’ll have to kill him.” her voice shook as she uttered those words. The words landed like a blade dropped onto stone.

Taylor’s hand stilled over the mortar. She didn’t look up immediately. When she did, her eyes were resolute but damp. “Stella… are you prepared for that?”

Stella didn’t answer right away.

She turned her gaze toward the window, where pale sunlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating dust motes in the air. Her hand trembled once before she curled it into a fist.

“I don’t have a choice,” she said. “If I don’t try… then I’ve already lost him.”

That settled it. No one argued further. They moved into motion with the grim efficiency of people who knew time was not on their side.

The process was pretty straightforward and presice. The book demanded exact measurements, exact timing, exact intent. One misstep, one distracted thought, and the mixture would either be inert—or lethal. The women took charge of the preparation.

Taylor, Stella, and Theresa spread the ingredients across the table, each item carefully labeled. Dried moonshade petals. Powdered nightroot. Ash from a sacred branch burned under a waning moon. A single vial of Marcus’s blood—obtained weeks earlier, before things had worsened.,Taylor handled the herbs like she was born to it.

Her fingers moved with quiet confidence, grinding, sifting, measuring. Every so often, she would pause, eyes unfocusing slightly, as if listening to something only she could hear.

Theresa noticed. “You okay?”

Taylor nodded after a second. “Yeah. Just… double-checking the resonance.”

Stella gave her a small, grateful smile. “You’re a blessing, you know that?”

Taylor smiled at her words and nodded, "We're all trying our best to save Marcus. Don't worry, we will definitely save Marcus"

Across the room, Brian tightened the straps on his armor while Alec sharpened a blade, the scrape of metal against stone steady and rhythmic.

“We’ll rotate patrols,” Brian said. “Two on watch at all times. If Dylan or anyone else decides to get bold—”

“They won’t,” Killian cut in. “Not yet.”

Brian looked at him. “You sure?”

Killian’s eyes flicked to Taylor briefly before returning to Brian. “They’re waiting. Everyone is.”

Stella stiffened. “Then we finish this before then.”

Night fell faster than expected. Candles were lit around the table as the mixture began to take form. The powder shimmered faintly now, silvery-gray, swirling unnaturally when disturbed.

Theresa leaned closer, eyes narrowed. “It’s… reacting.”

“It’s supposed to,” Stella said, though her voice wavered. “It’s binding to Marcus’s blood.”

Taylor carefully poured the final ingredient—a clear liquid that smelled faintly of iron and rain—into the bowl. The reaction was immediate. The powder surged, glowing brighter for a split second before settling again, calm and deceptively harmless.

Everyone froze. Then the glow faded completely.

Stella released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “That’s it.”

Brian straightened. “We have it?”

“We have it,” Stella confirmed.

Killian pushed off the wall and approached the table. “How many doses?”

Stella held up two small glass bottles. “Two. That’s all the book allows. Any more and the mixture destabilizes.”

“So we get one shot,” Alec muttered.

“Two,” Taylor corrected softly. “But yes. One chance.”

She looked at the bottles longer than necessary. Fifty–fifty. She hated odds like that. The next days passed in a blur of tension.

Brian, Alec, and Killian rotated patrols relentlessly, covering the mansion grounds, surrounding forests, and key borders. None of them strayed far, not even to sleep properly.

The women stayed mostly inside, cross-referencing the book, reviewing contingencies, memorizing every possible outcome. Stella barely slept at all.

Taylor noticed her hands shaking more often now.

“You should rest,” Taylor said one evening as Stella rubbed her temples.

Stella laughed softly, humorless. “Sleep feels like betrayal.”

Taylor didn’t push. Theresa packed supplies—medical kits, binding cuffs, enchanted restraints. Her movements were brisk, controlled, like if she stopped moving, the fear would catch her.

At one point, Brian passed through the library, and tried to take Theresa away.