Chapter Twenty-Three #2
“The viral vector that makes it a miracle food also causes a lipid-alkaloid reaction,” she explained, gesturing to a complex chemical diagram on a large screen. “It tastes like industrial waste. Our flavorist, Crystal, is a genius, and even she’s completely stumped. We can’t mask it.”
I listened, my mind quiet, watching her point to a specific molecular chain on the screen. “The bitterness is locked right here,” she said, tapping the image. “In the oil compound.”
The words—locked, oil, compound—were like a key turning in a long-forgotten door in my mind.
The world around me faded. I wasn’t in a high-tech lab anymore.
I was back in the dusty, silent library of the Gravestone mansion, a heavy, leather-bound book open in my lap.
The Journal of a 17th-Century Botanist in the Basin.
I could see the brittle, yellowed page, the faded ink of a drawing of a mossy fungus growing on a specific type of tree.
The text described how a local tribe would take a poisonous, nutrient-rich root, pack it in a poultice made from that moss, and bury it for two days.
When they dug it up, it was perfectly edible.
“This is going to sound strange,” I said, my voice quiet, almost a whisper.
I felt their eyes on me. I wasn’t a scientist. I was only a man who had read a lot of books.
“You’re trying to hide the bitterness or neutralize it with chemistry, right?
What if you used biology instead?” I took a breath, the memory suddenly sharp and clear in my mind.
“What if something . . . ate the bitterness for you?”
Scott and Monica exchanged a look of confusion, but they were listening.
I explained the memory—the journal, the poisonous root, the poultice.
“The tribe didn’t know the science, but they knew the process.
The moss in the poultice wasn’t the solution.
It was the host for something that produced .
. . a tool. An enzyme. One that specifically targeted and broke down the toxins in the root.
” I looked from Scott’s hopeful face to Monica’s analytical one.
“What if you could find an enzyme that does the same thing for your paste? One that sees that bitter lipid-alkaloid as its only food source? It wouldn’t mask the problem. It would eliminate it.”
The lab was silent, the only sound the gentle hum of the ventilation system. Scott and Monica stared at me, their expressions a mixture of shock and dawning, incredible hope.
Scott let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for years. He looked at Monica, then back at me, his eyes wide. “I . . .” he started, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe we never thought of that.”
Monica nodded. “Ashen, how would you feel about coming to work with us?”
“You’re offering me a job?” I definitely needed one.
Scott shook his head. “You’re one of us, Ashen. Let’s get your name legally changed and, I think I speak for both Monica and me, we’d like to invest in the company you’re about to start. How does Ryse Enterprise sound to you?”
Because I’m Ashen Ryse?
The name Sara had given me. Ashen like ashes from a fire.
Ryse like a phoenix rising from those ashes.
I’d spent the last few weeks shoving her out of my thoughts, but I couldn’t look at Sparkles without feeling confused about why she’d brought her to me.
At first, I’d convinced myself that Sparkles had been a strategic move to win my trust enough to keep communication with Sara possible so she could continue to manipulate me for information.
But I hadn’t heard from her.
Gene told me what she’d said to him—she’d wanted to make sure I had the choice to have Sparkles.
She’d told me she didn’t want to be the reason I didn’t keep my promise to Sparkles.
I didn’t know if that meant she had ever genuinely cared about me or if her only concern was what happened to Sparkles.
Either way, I didn’t hate her anymore.
The Gravestones did need to be stopped, and it made sense that she would see me as a means of getting dirt on them.
What I struggled with was how much, if any, of what she’d shared with me was true.
And with how much I felt like the name Ashen Ryse fit me.
Yes, Sara had used me, and the weight of her lies landed on me during my weakest moments, but she’d also inspired me to leap out of the tidepool I’d felt trapped in.
Even if she was someone I hoped to never run across again, part of me was willing to acknowledge I wouldn’t be where I was had we never crossed paths.
“Ryse Enterprise.” I swallowed hard and met Scott’s gaze.
They didn’t owe me anything, but I wasn’t in a position to refuse their offer of help.
And, more than how it would affect me financially, I wanted to be one of them.
I wanted to finally belong. “Whatever investment you make into it will be paid back to you tenfold.”
Monica held out her hand for a shake. “Not today, but soon, I’d like to introduce you to my father. I have a feeling he’ll really like you.”
I shook her hand and then Scott’s. “Thank you,” I said hoarsely.
In the quiet that followed, a new feeling began to bloom in my chest. It wasn’t happiness, not yet. It was something more solid. It was the feeling of a loose piece clicking into place.
It was purpose.