The dust swirled around them, coating the crumbling stone of the castle ruins in a fine, grey film. Elias coughed, waving a hand in front of his face as he followed Alistair deeper into the skeletal remains of what was once a grand hall. The air hung heavy with the scent of mildew and something else, something metallic and faintly acrid, that spoke of recent, unsettling activity.

Alistair, his usually impeccable suit now smeared with grime, was a man possessed. He moved with a focused intensity that Elias had only witnessed when Alistair was dismantling a particularly complex code or cornering a rival in a business deal. He was hunting something, and Elias suspected it was the truth.

They’d followed the thread of fragmented data gleaned from encrypted servers, a breadcrumb trail left by someone desperate to expose the true nature of the pheromone project. That trail had led them here, to this desolate husk of a castle, its history etched into every weathered stone.

Elias's heart hammered against his ribs. This whole situation felt surreal, ripped from the pages of a spy novel rather than the reality of his life as a celebrated opera singer. He glanced back towards the opening in the collapsed wall they’d squeezed through, half expecting to see the flashing blue lights of police cars. But the only sound was the wind whistling through broken archways, a mournful lament for a bygone era.