She smiled, and for the first time, I saw something hungry in her expression—not for me, but for what I was becoming.
“Phase Four,” Elara whispered, her voice hoarse from three days without sleep. She didn't touch the vial. Not yet. She’d learned that lesson. The burns on her left palm, now faded to silvery scars, were a constant reminder of the Concoction's temper. Futa Concoction -Ch.4 P1- By Faust Seiker
Behind her, a floorboard creaked.