Roman sat behind his desk, the glow of several monitors washing the office in a pale blue light. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms, and a cup of coffee sat forgotten beside the keyboard, long gone cold. His phone rested against a stack of documents, the screen occupied by Theon’s face

“I still don’t understand why you’re making this so complicated,” Theon said, rubbing between his brows. Several reports and laboratory samples littered the desk behind him. “You created the virus. You created the antidote. Just tell me the formula.”

Roman leaned back in his chair, his fingers pressing against his temple.

"It's not that simple. The original formula...