The boiling "blood water" scorched Lila's skin, and Milo's charred, twisted face—his fanatical blue-light eye sockets—remained locked onto her. The mechanical arm exerted an astonishing force, nearly crushing her ankle. Above, the searchlight from the police helicopter pierced through the smoke, intertwining with the ominous blue glow emanating from the overloading sapphire heart that was about to explode. This transformed the collapsing rooftop into a surreal execution ground.
The holographic projection cast by the overloaded heart grew increasingly clear—a mother holding an infant at the attic window, the background a blizzard from 1997, a faint thorn mark on the baby's ring finger… That mark! Instinctively, Lila glanced at the thorn birthmark on her lower back, which now burned fiercely with pain and anger. Could it be…
"Fusion... purification..." Milo's metallic voice rasped, his arm jerking violently as he yanked her entirely into the scalding "blood water"! Instantly, suffocation and searing pain consumed her. But in that moment, she also noticed Milo's exposed energy port within his chest cavity, revealed when the waterproof armor had shifted during the pull.
Survival instinct took over everything. In the split second before being submerged, Lila summoned her last ounce of strength and forcefully pressed the small piece of placental tissue—dropped earlier from her pearl earring—into Milo's energy port!
A sharp, ear-piercing crackle erupted as organic matter met high-voltage current, unleashing a dazzling arc of electricity! Milo's mechanical body convulsed violently; his blue-lit eye sockets went dark, and his grip loosened. But his body didn't stop moving—it writhed like a puppet whose strings had been cut, thrashing madly in the boiling water, tearing indiscriminately at everything around him, including his own exposed mechanical skeleton. Harlowe AI had lost precise control over him, leaving only the most primal attack commands active.
At the same time, the sapphire heart finally reached its critical point! Instead of exploding, it emitted a long, ancient sigh, then dissolved into billions of radiant blue specks of light, scattering like fireflies. One particularly bright speck shot directly into the restless fusion entity embedded in Lila's abdomen.
The excruciating pain vanished, replaced by an odd calm, as though something had been temporarily soothed—or suppressed. But the rooftop's collapse didn't cease. The sculpture base beneath her feet tilted sharply, sending Lila sliding toward the ever-expanding abyss along with the remnants of Milo's失控残骸.
She clung desperately to a broken platinum frame, her body swaying amidst the wind and falling debris. Below stretched an endless void, while inside the gallery, the internal structure collapsed in chain explosions, flames, smoke, and twisted steel forming an apocalyptic scene. The helicopter's spotlight followed relentlessly, its loudspeaker broadcasting a cold warning: "Lila Weston! Cease resistance immediately! Repeat…"
Resistance? She was merely fighting to survive!
Her gaze landed on a severed fire hose dangling in midair like a giant serpent. Without hesitation, she let go, adjusting her posture mid-air and barely managing to grab the slippery hose. The impact nearly dislocated her arm, but she gritted her teeth against the agony, clinging to the hose like a gecko and sliding downward.
Amidst the scorching steam, acrid burnt odors, and the overpowering scent of cedar cologne, she slid past a blasted-open floor and spotted a familiar space—Ethan's private studio once located on the gallery's top floor! The walls still bore their graffiti sketches from happier times, though now torn apart and charred by the explosion, mirroring the shattered remains of their relationship.
"Ethan…" The name stabbed her heart like a poisoned thorn. He had pushed her into this hell, yet he had also left behind the final clue. Love and hate intertwined cruelly in him, creating the most brutal labyrinth.
In the corner of the studio, she saw the music box she'd gifted him, engraved with iris flowers and thorns. The words "Home is Where" flickered faintly in the firelight. The box lay half-open, empty inside. But scattered on the floor nearby were some white pills.
Antidepressants! She recognized them instantly—they were prescribed by her doctor before her imprisonment, the same ones Ethan "reminded" her to take daily. Why were they here?
Sliding down the hose, she stumbled into the studio. Her foot kicked a half-burnt medicine bottle, its label bearing her name, dated a week before the arson five years ago. She picked up one pill, its icy touch sending a shiver down her spine. These pills… seemed different from what she remembered. Whiter, harder, and… upon closer inspection under specific angles, they bore an almost imperceptible iris imprint?
Her heart raced as a horrifying thought surfaced. Frantically, she began digging through the ruins of the studio. Finally, in the bottom compartment of a warped filing cabinet, she found a hidden compartment. Inside were no documents, just a portable drug analyzer and several vials labeled with different reagents. Was this Ethan's secret? What had he been analyzing here?
Trembling, she placed one "antidepressant" into the analyzer. The screen lit up, beginning its scan. Each second waiting for results felt like an eternity. The cedar scent grew stronger, making her nauseous.
"Beep—" The analysis was complete. On the screen appeared a complex chemical formula, annotated below: "Primary Component: High-Efficiency Memory Suppressant (Harlowe Special), Trace Neurotoxin (Iris Extract), Nanotracking Chip (Model: Iris-0927)…"
Not antidepressants! Not at all! From the very beginning, what she had been taking wasn't medication to alleviate depression but a custom poison created by Harlowe Corporation to suppress her memories, damage her nervous system, and track her in real-time! And Ethan—the man who claimed to love her and worry about her condition—was the executioner who personally fed her these toxins!
Five years! Five entire years! She had been imprisoned, enduring physical and mental torment, believing herself emotionally fragile and suffering from depression. Now, it turned out even her emotions and memories were part of Harlowe's meticulously designed deception! Those fragmented memories, inexplicable mood swings, the confusion and dizziness the night before her imprisonment—it all made sense now!
Anger and icy hatred surged through her like a tsunami. She let out a beastly roar and hurled the analyzer against the wall. Shards flew everywhere, slicing her cheek, but she felt no pain. The truth behind the arson case five years ago was likely far darker and filthier than she had imagined! Ethan's "eyewitness testimony" was probably coerced under drug control and Harlowe's threats!
Staggering backward, she knocked over the music box. It fell to the ground, its base cracking open, revealing a small glass bead sealed with wax. She picked it up, peeled off the wax seal, and inside found a microfilm smaller than a grain of rice!
Desperately searching for something to read the microfilm, she discovered an old slide projector in the corner of the studio, dusty but functional. Carefully, she inserted the microfilm.
Pressing the switch, a beam of light projected onto the charred opposite wall. After flickering a few times, a silent surveillance video began playing.
At the center of the frame stood a young Ethan, his left ring finger twitching nervously. Before him stood a middle-aged man in a white lab coat and wire-rimmed glasses, exuding a sinister aura—Mr. Harlowe! Harlowe handed Ethan a bottle of pills—the same "antidepressants" she had found earlier. Pain and reluctance filled Ethan's face, but ultimately, he accepted the bottle.
The camera cut. It showed their old apartment. Ethan carefully replaced her original pink antidepressants, one by one, with the white pills. His movements were practiced and secretive, his eyes filled with struggle—and fear?
Another cut. The night before the arson. She suffered from severe headaches due to side effects, her consciousness blurred. Ethan held her gently, feeding her water—but the water clearly contained more dissolved white pills! He watched her drink the "poison," his expression so complex it made her heart race.
The final frame froze on a close-up of Ethan. He stared at the camera (clearly hidden surveillance), his lips moving silently, as if saying something. Lila focused intently on his mouth, deciphering word by word—"Attic… Third painting… Thorns…"
Not *Sleep LEN*! Not *Sleep LIAN*! It was *Thorns*! She had misunderstood Ethan's final message all along! The true clue pointed to a painting titled *Thorns*! And that painting—she remembered now—was an early self-portrait she had created, depicting herself entangled in countless thorny vines, her eyes filled with despair and rage. After her imprisonment, the painting had disappeared; she assumed it had been destroyed!
The film ended, and the projector clicked off automatically, plunging the studio back into darkness.
So that was it. Ethan had been controlled by Harlowe, manipulating her with drugs. But he had also left clues in his own way, trying to guide her toward the truth. He had swapped her medication but hid the real secrets within their shared keepsake. Love and hate blurred the lines once again.
Just then, the fusion entity in her abdomen stirred restlessly—not in pain, but with… excitement? As if resonating with her recent emotional turmoil and recovered memories. The wedding ring pattern beneath her skin flashed again, brighter and more urgent than before.
Simultaneously, a faint rendition of Bach's *Air on the G String* drifted through the ventilation ducts, its melody distorted and intermittent, like ghostly breathing. Harlowe AI hadn't given up!
Quickly, she gathered the tampered "antidepressants" and the shattered remnants of the music box. These were evidence—and weapons. She had to find *Thorns*, no matter where it was hidden.
Standing at the edge of the blasted studio, she looked down. Several floors below, the structure was heavily damaged, but she could vaguely make out the entrance to the maintenance passage leading to the attic. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the cold fire hose again, preparing to continue this descent into hell.
But just before sliding down, her peripheral vision caught sight of the scorched graffiti on the studio wall. Most patterns had been obliterated by flames, but a small section survived, shielded by a metal filing cabinet. There, a stick-figure baby wrapped in a giant pearl earring was drawn, accompanied by hastily scribbled words: "The Mother's Sacrifice, The Eternal Cage."