In her right hand, she held a heavy yellow plastic jerrycan.

The sharp, sweet smell of kerosene was thick in the room, burning the back of my throat with every breath.

“Victoria,” I said, my voice barely a whisper in the quiet room.

She spun around, dropping a stack of paper folders onto the floor.

Her eyes were wide, reflecting the faint green glow of the laboratory monitors.

“Elila,” she said, her voice sharp and breathless. “You shouldn’t be down here.”

“What are you doing?” I asked, taking a cautious step toward the central island.

My eyes darted to the refrigeration unit at the back of the room.

That was where the original chemical samples of the formulation were kept.

Beside the fridge sat the black external hard drive containing the raw mass spectrometry data.

It was the only copy that Julian hadn’t been able to alter on the company’s network.

“I am fixing a mistake,” Victoria said, unscrewing the cap of the jerrycan with trembling fingers.

“This company belongs to the Sterlings and the Leprinces,” she muttered, pouring the clear liquid over the lab benches. “Not to a charity-case intern.”