Naphtheniqúe mixture was widely used due to one highly advantageous quality: it produced no smoke. A sophisticated oxidation left only ash of varying density, which, although still needing disposal, was far more manageable than dealing with gas for obvious reasons. Takes someone really gifted to try inhaling the charred dust.

  That was not what Rosemarée was thinking about at the moment. Leaning against a cold, stone wall, resisting the compulsion to rub his weary eyes, he was engrossed in calculations. Four days of work wasted, plus two additional days for lab cleaning and decontamination setup, and his own body requiring around three days for recovery from the amped Badbloods, best case. He will probably go back exploring the worst case, as he usually does, but even so... If it took another four days to make any significant headway...

  That left him with only three more attempts. Otherwise, he'd miss the first supervision, incurring a penalty, which also meant missing out on the Penta, effectively limiting him to the Tetra, and essentially rendering him out of work with the current industry standards.

  Ignoring the ashes of his success, he trudged towards a tall cabinet situated to the left of the door. Next to it stood a tall metal contraption, and between the wall and the cabinet lay a long metal trunk, filled with various items one often regretted not having at the most unfortunate moments. Well, while Rosemarée knew the trunk was there, it might not be obvious to an observer, hidden beneath a pile of different fabrics -- spare clothes, his coat, and several old, threadbare blankets. The clutter was nothing to be proud of, but in stark contrast with the room's utilitarian equipment, this "domestic" mess felt somewhat cozy. Casting a tired look at the hourglasses, Rosemarée collapsed onto the trunk and drifted off the moment he closed his eyes.

  The sound brought him back into the realm of the waking. It was unusual, as most of the lengthy chemical reactions or other preparations tended to be silent. This was why sleeping in a lab was considered dangerous, not merely careless. Rosemarée was glad to escape the hissing shadows of his dreams, laden with distorted visions of his mistakes and worries. Surprisingly, an unexpected knock on the irs-iron door was more welcome than the endless barrage of self-doubt and worry.

  Having slept for a few hours but barely feeling refreshed, Rosemarée dragged himself towards the door, mentally speculating about the visitor. It could be Tl?nnen, to borrow the lensóscope again, and return it with the scratched lens... Tough luck, the lab's sealed. Perhaps, his supervisor? Thought made him shiver.

  Through a small gap between the warrant and the edge of the window, he could distinguish a wide-brimmed hat and a short, slim figure donning it. The intense rainstorm made it challenging to identify anything else in the half-light of the evening. He thought he could glimpse blonde curls beneath the hat, but...

  "Who's..." He halted abruptly to clear his throat, suddenly succumbing to a violent coughing fit as his body convulsively tried to expel something that was not there. A nasty side effect of constantly operating on dozens of chemicals.

  "Rosemarée? Is that you, are you alright?" A voice, higher in pitch and slightly more melodic than average, called out. It was muted by the iron door and the relentless patter of the rainstorm, but most of the words were discernible.

  Still trying to prevent his lungs ending up on the floor, Rosemarée felt a sting of shame. All of his speculations on the matter of visitor had completely overlooked his own family, specifically his sister.

  "Ugh... apologies, just... the air's not the best around here. Hi Audry. It's sort of late..." was it? Rainstorm obscured the daylight, so Rosemarée had to squint to see the time on one of the hourglasses. Hourglass indicated late evening...

  Something is wrong. Wind, splatter of droplets, rainstorm, something alien is within those. It's closer than you think.

  He shrugged off this sensation. It can wait.

  "Indeed, it's somewhat late to wander this district if you're alone, why are you here?"

  He noticed her silhouette shift uneasily. If it was something serious he'd better not make it worse...

  "I... I thought I'd visit with the news. You're so... tied up with the project and thesis and... studies that all of us worry about you."

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "All of you who? Mackrey who has likely forgotten that I exist? Grandsire, who spends his whole day reading his own books? All of my other precious siblings? I, well, I appreciate that you remember, but speak for yourself, please."

  He knew he should've said it differently, but the topic of family was a tough one for him. And he has just lost his project. And his whole body ached... Great, now he had to find a way to apologize...

  "Mother has gotten worse," Audry's voice barely audible through the door, "I thought you should know. Grandsire has returned to his... high-energy chemistry books to work on something for one of his old colleagues. He hopes to earn a favor and maybe ask for help with mother's illness..."

  Grandsire. The term sounds overly formal, yet his grandpa had earned that respect. A pioneer in an exceptionally dangerous field, where experience was often measured by the number of colleagues one had outlived. Yet obscurity claims even the greatest once their health prevents hands-on research. If he was trying to return to it at his age, he must have been truly desperate. And that could only mean...

  That things were getting worse, and not just in his academic pursuits.

  Audry's voice was sad. Of his five siblings, Audry was the one he felt closest to. Quiet, clever, yet shy, she never tried to get on his nerves, unlike the others. Since he joined the Chemidiáté they started seeing each other less, and he always felt like he abandoned her. Yet, she always had this seemingly joyful and slightly sad look to her, as if she was genuinely happy that he is able to study. He selfishly preferred to see only this side; even though he knew she missed him. He just... never had the time?

  You never made the time, an inner voice chided him, always pursuing that grand ambition of yours, to distinguish yourself, to validate something to someone. Fine, prove it to the world. But do you really have to do it alone?

  With a quiet thud, he pressed his forehead against the door. He never knew how to say these things, yet he felt like something will irreversibly break unless he does it now.

  Splat.

  "I'm... Sorry, Audry. I'm sorry to hear that, and I didn't mean to be so harsh. There's so many things I wish I could change. I should have... come home more often, despite the rest of the family. I know you missed me, and, and I honestly missed you too, but it's too much. The damn Mackrey, the grandsire, you know how they are. And after mother fell ill... I feel like I have to constantly do something, but I don't know what. And I can't be there if I'm not enough."

  He barely managed to control this emotional torrent, as if his feelings had suddenly found an outlet. He had never pictured himself as an emotional revolutionary biénventor, but this time, it didn't feel wrong. Was it the mysterious and unsolved chemistry of empathy at work? He knew this not. But he was relieved to have spoken those words.

  Audry's voice was quiet:

  "I... I'm glad you told me this. I always thought you were just too busy, or maybe angry at the family. They can be... difficult sometimes, I know. But they still care about you, even if they show it in weird ways. We all do." She fumbled with her bag. "I brought you some food from home. Just... promise you'll eat properly? At least once a week? And maybe, when you're done here, you could visit for a few days? Pretty please?"

  He was truly hopeless in ever understanding how do emotions work. Just a moment ago he was on the brink of tears, and now he was struggling to contain his laughter. It was so much easier if you just talked to people...

  "I really wish I could hug you right now, but as you know, irs-iron isn't exactly famous for letting living things pass through," he said with a smirk.

  "Once I enroll on Chemidiáté preparation tutorship, I'll find a workaround, promise!"

  He smiled at her through the fogged-up glass, just happy that she was there.

  Splat-splat.

  "I can't take the food right now," Rosemarée said, gesturing towards the warrant affixed to the glass. "But I'm planning to get out of here soon, and I'd love a decent meal if it doesn't spoil by then."

  "You're a chemist, can't you figure something out?" she retorted with a faint smile. He liked seeing her smile, partially because it was so rare in their lives.

  "I'll see what I can do. Take care, and... give them my best, maybe. I'll make sure to visit soon."

  Audry put a small bag under the narrow canopy that shielded the door from the outside, then waved him goodbye and wandered off in timid contemplation towards the stairs leading to the lower floor.

  Rosemarée turned back to his lab, and for once during his four-day captivity, he didn't feel like a lab rat. He felt human, someone of significance, and not purely in terms of his "world-changing" ambitions. It was a genuinely nice feeling.

  He was slightly staggered in terms of what to do next. Last he remembered, he... oh yes. He destroyed his project, there's the ashes. He yearned for rest now, feeling somewhat hopeful. He had managed to contain the Project, even at the expense of burning it, and he seemed to have reconciled with Audry.

  In any case, he killed the Project. He will have to re-design the schematics during his recovers, leaving him with only the task of tidying up the mess and packing up things in preparation of leaving the lab. Weather was raging outside; distant industrial horns marked the end of a shift with a low hum, making the petriglass clatter ever so slightly. Listening carefully, he could hear the subtle hiss of one of his hourglasses, and somewhere else, water was gently dripping in calming rhythm. It was peaceful.

  He walked back to his work table, checking the hourglasses out of habit, nothing wrong so far.

  And then Rosemarée looked at the table, where he left the dissected parts of the Project.