“That was the day Alexander first complained of a headache,” I remembered.

“He was being poisoned slowly,” Marcus said. “A cumulative dose.”

“Then there must be a record of the purchase here,” Sofia said, flipping through the folder.

She stopped at a small, yellow receipt tucked into the back of the ledger.

It was a receipt from a chemical supply company in south Boston.

The item was listed as a specialized agricultural solvent.

“Dimethyl sulfate,” Marcus read aloud, his face pale.

“Is it lethal?” Sofia asked.

“In small, daily doses, it mimics a severe cardiovascular collapse,” Marcus said.

“It leaves almost no trace unless you know exactly what to look for.”

I looked back at Alexander.

His fingers twitched slightly against the dark green sheets.

A thin line of sweat ran down his temple, glistening in the lamplight.

“We need Dr. Voss now,” I said. “Every minute we waste, his organs are failing.”

“She should be at the lower gate by now,” Marcus said.

He walked to the window and peered out into the dark, rainy garden.

The security lights flickered once, then twice, before returning to a dull glow.