Chapter 1:Eve's World

  "In mortal blood lies immortal truth; in death's silence speaks life's mystery."

  -The Sanguine Codex, Book I, Verse III

  Dr. Evelyn Blackwood's gloved hands moved with practiced precision as she made the Y-incision, her intense green eyes focused on each careful stroke. At twenty-six, she was the youngest forensic pathologist in the department's history, a fact that drove her to approach every case with meticulous attention to detail. The hum of fluorescent lights created a stark counterpoint to the oppressive silence of death as she worked, her movements displaying years of carefully honed expertise. Steel file cabinets lined the walls like silent sentinels, their contents chronicling the city's mortality in methodically documented detail. Despite its clinical efficiency, the modern forensics lab felt different tonight—as if the space itself held its breath in anticipation of what she would discover.

  Through the lab's floor-to-ceiling windows, the city's Gothic architecture pierced the night sky like ancient teeth, their shadows seeming to writhe against the sterile gleam of the LED-lit facility. The newly renovated forensics building stood defiant—a fortress of science and logic amid centuries of superstition and darkness. Eve often found her gaze drawn to those spires, particularly during late-night autopsies.

  Something about their age-blackened stone spoke to a part of her that microscopes and medical textbooks couldn't satisfy, whispering secrets her grandmother had hinted at but never fully revealed.

  At twenty-eight, Eve was one of the youngest forensic pathologists in the department, a fact that made her even more meticulous in her work. Her dark hair, hastily pulled back into a messy bun, threatened to come loose as she leaned closer to examine the body before her. A silver pendant—her grandmother's final gift—swung forward from beneath her scrubs, leaving crimson smears on her collar from her latex-gloved fingers.

  The body before her—a John Doe discovered in an alley behind the old cathedral—presented a puzzle that defied her decade of medical training. Though pale as moonlight, the skin maintained an almost luminescent quality that no cadaver should possess. When Eve applied pressure near the mysterious neck wounds, the flesh responded with an elasticity reminiscent of someone merely sleeping rather than deceased for forty-eight hours.

  "Dr. Blackwood?" Tom Chen's voice broke through her concentration, carrying its usual warmth even at this late hour. Her young assistant's perpetually cheerful demeanor was legendary in the department—he somehow managed to whistle while preparing tissue samples and told terrible science puns during autopsies. Even the graveyard shift couldn't dim his irrepressible optimism. "The tox screen results are back."

  Eve straightened, wincing slightly as her back protested the movement. "Anything interesting?"

  Tom shook his head, a puzzled expression crossing his face. "That's just it—there's nothing. No drugs, no alcohol, not even traces of medication. It's like this guy's blood is... pure."

  Before Eve could respond, Dr. Harrison, the senior pathologist, strode into the lab like a thundercloud in a white coat. His perpetual scowl, carved deep by thirty years of dealing with death and bureaucracy, deepened as he glanced at her detailed notes. He was old-school medicine incarnate—brilliant but rigid, with no patience for anything that challenged established procedures. "Blackwood, you're overthinking this. A clear case of exsanguination. Probably some new drug user's botched attempt at blood play." He dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand, his gravelly voice carrying the weight of decades of unquestioned authority. "Just wrap it up and move on to the next case."

  Eve bristled but held her tongue. The fluorescent lights flickered, casting strange shadows across the room. She caught Tom's sympathetic glance as Dr. Harrison left, his footsteps echoing with administrative finality.

  Hours later, Eve finally peeled off her latex gloves and signed out for the night. The lab's bright sterility fell away as she stepped into the shadowy parking garage. She pulled her coat tighter, unable to shake the unease from the strange autopsy.

  The city at night was a different world. Modern glass towers pierced the sky alongside centuries-old stone buildings, their Gothic spires reaching like gnarled fingers into the darkness. Eve's boots clicked against the wet pavement as she walked the familiar route home, passing under stone gargoyles that seemed to follow her movement with empty eyes.

  A figure caught her attention—tall, motionless, watching from the shadows of a cathedral doorway. When she turned for a second look, both shadows and man had vanished.

  Her apartment occupied the third floor of a renovated Victorian building, its interior a perfect reflection of her dual nature: sleek steel and glass furniture shared space with centuries-old medical instruments displayed in hand-carved wooden cases. Her grandmother's collection of leather-bound books lined one wall, their spines bearing titles in languages few modern scholars could read.

  Eve shed her coat and powered up her laptop, sinking into her favorite armchair—a baroque piece reupholstered in sleek black leather. The John Doe case haunted her. She began searching medical databases for similar cases, the blue light from her screen casting strange shadows among her collection of anatomical drawings and vintage surgical instruments.

  The words began to blur. Eve's head nodded, her coffee growing cold beside her notes. In her dream, she descended stone steps that spiraled endlessly into earth that reeked of copper and ancient decay. Hooded figures surrounded a black stone altar, their chanting building to a crescendo that made her bones vibrate. The corpse from her examination table lay spread-eagled on the stone, but now its chest rose and fell with impossible breath. Its eyes snapped open—blood-red orbs fixed on her with hungry recognition and ancient intelligence.

  Eve jolted awake, heart racing. Pale morning light filtered through her windows. Her phone showed 7:45 AM—she was late for work. As she rushed to gather her things, the dream clung to her like cobwebs, along with a certainty that the John Doe case was far from over.

  She hurried back to the lab, unaware that the exact tall figure from the night before watched her departure from the shadows of a stone angel, its eyes gleaming with ancient patience.

  The lab was already buzzing with day shift activity when she arrived. Tom looked up from his microscope, surprise crossing his features. "Dr. Blackwood? Thought you'd take the morning off after last night's case."

  "Where is he?" Eve moved toward the examination room but stopped short. The table where John Doe had laid was empty, the surface pristinely cleaned.

  "Dr. Harrison had him moved to the morgue already." Tom's usually cheerful expression darkened. "Said the case was closed."

  Eve's fingers traced the strange crystalline patterns that had appeared in her latest blood samples, unconsciously mimicking molecular diagrams barely visible in her grandmother's books. As she studied the results, her pendant grew warm against her skin, its familiar weight now carrying new significance.

  "These test results simply aren't possible," Eve muttered, staring at the data displays. The blood cell formations defied every known principle of biology and physics. Tom leaned closer, his usual cheer replaced with intense focus she'd never seen before.

  "Dr. Blackwood's right," he said, adjusting his microscope settings. "Look at this formation. It's almost like... like it's writing something."

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  Before they could investigate further, a notification flashed on Eve's tablet as the preliminary analysis completed. The results defied conventional science: molecular structures that rearranged themselves even as she watched, crystalline formations that resonated at frequencies her equipment could barely detect. Each new data point echoed diagrams she'd glimpsed in her grandmother's forbidden books.

  "Dr. Blackwood." Dr. Harrison's stern voice cut through their discussion. "A word in my office."

  The morning sun through his window cast his shadow long across the floor, reaching toward Eve like an accusatory finger. "Your obsession with anomalies is becoming a problem," he began. "We're scientists, not conspiracy theorists. This is the third case this month where you've pushed for... unconventional explanations."

  "Sir, if you'd just look at the cellular structures—"

  "Enough!" His fist crashed down on the desk, making his medical school diplomas rattle on the wall. "I've received calls from the board about your unorthodox theories. Your grandmother's reputation won't protect you forever, Dr. Blackwood. Her... eccentricities may have been tolerated in her day, but modern medicine has no room for fairytales and folklore."

  Eve's fists clenched at her sides, the mention of her grandmother striking deeper than Harrison could know. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as their eyes locked in silent combat.

  Back in the lab, Eve processed her mandatory caseload with mechanical precision, her hands moving through familiar protocols while her mind circled endlessly around the morning's discoveries. Three routine autopsies filled her afternoon, each one underscoring how decidedly un-routine the John Doe case had been.

  As she completed her final routine case, Tom appeared at her workstation, barely containing his nervous energy. "I may have done something..." He glanced around before continuing. Before they moved the body, I took additional samples: full blood work, tissue analysis, everything I could think of." He pulled a sealed evidence bag from his lab coat. "I haven't logged these officially."

  Eve stared at the samples, career preservation warring with scientific curiosity. "Tom, if Harrison finds out—"

  "I know. But you saw those results, Dr. Blackwood. Whatever this is, it's not normal."

  Under the microscope, the new samples confirmed their suspicions. The crystalline structures had continued to evolve, forming patterns that seemed almost deliberate in their complexity. Eve meticulously documented everything in her private notebook, keeping the information separate from official records.

  As she worked, the lab's temperature plummeted so suddenly that her breath clouded in the air—an impossibility given the building's precise climate control. The feeling of being watched intensified, prickling along her spine with almost electric intensity. Her grandmother's pendant grew ice-cold against her skin.

  She looked up to find a woman standing in the doorway—though 'standing' seemed an inadequate description of her presence. The stranger occupied the space like a predator, every line of her tall frame suggesting elegant refinement and barely restrained power. Her suit was impeccably tailored, yet the style seemed to shift subtly when Eve tried to focus on any particular detail.

  The woman's beauty was devastating but wrong—like a Renaissance painting brought to life and forced to conform to modern dimensions. Her skin possessed the same impossible luminescence as John Doe's, and when she smiled, the fluorescent lights flickered in response. The temperature dropped further, and frost patterns began forming along the edges of Eve's steel examination table.

  "Dr. Evelyn Blackwood?" The woman's voice carried an authority that made Eve and Tom straighten. "I'm Agent Zara Nightshade, FBI Special Division." She held up official-looking credentials, yet something about them made Eve's eyes want to slide away. "We need to discuss your John Doe."

  Tom quickly gathered his samples, giving Eve a meaningful look before retreating to his workstation, though he remained within earshot.

  "Agent Nightshade," Eve kept her voice neutral, noting how the woman's movements were almost too fluid, too precise. "I wasn't aware the FBI had jurisdiction over local morgue cases."

  "We do when they match certain... patterns of interest." Zara moved closer, examining Eve's private notes with unsettling intensity. Her eyes, when they met Eve's, seemed to shift color in the fluorescent light. "Tell me, Doctor, what do you make of the crystalline structures in the blood samples?"

  Eve hesitated, measuring her response. "They defy known biological processes. The rate of mutation alone—"

  "Is it impossible?" Zara's lips curved in what might have been amusement. "Like a body with no decay after forty-eight hours? Or perfect puncture wounds that don't match any known weapon?"

  The temperature seemed to drop further. Eve was acutely aware of Tom pretending not to listen, the security cameras in the corners, and the morning sun that somehow didn't quite reach where Zara stood.

  "What is this really about, Agent Nightshade?"

  "Smart girl." Zara's voice lowered. "You're asking the right questions, Dr. Blackwood. But are you ready for answers that might shatter your scientific worldview?"

  Before Eve could respond, the lab's lights flickered violently. In that moment of darkness, Zara's eyes seemed to glow with the same red intensity from Eve's dream. When the lights stabilized, Agent Nightshade was gone, leaving only a business card on Eve's desk.

  The remainder of the afternoon passed in a blur of routine procedures and paperwork, but Eve's mind kept returning to Agent Nightshade's words and those impossibly shifting eyes. Several times, she caught herself reaching for the card, its presence like a cold whisper against her thigh.

  By evening, clouds had gathered over the city's spires, threatening rain. Eve sat in her office, watching shadows lengthen across her desk. The sensible thing would be to ignore the card and file away the strange case as an unsolved anomaly. Her fingers traced the embossed lettering of her medical degree on the wall—years of scientific training telling her to trust in logic, in provable facts.

  But the image of those crystalline structures haunted her. And underneath her scientific skepticism, a deeper part of her—the part that still remembered her grandmother's stories of the old country—whispered that some mysteries demanded to be solved, no matter the cost.

  The card was blank except for a single address, written in an elegant script that seemed to shimmer as Eve read it:

  "Cathedral of St. Michael

  Midnight

  Come alone if you want the truth."

  At 10:45 PM, Eve meticulously conducted her final preparations. The crystalline samples, carefully labeled and documented, were placed in a separate protective case. She photographed and uploaded all documentation to a secure cloud drive, a precaution that seemed increasingly necessary.

  As midnight approached, the storm transformed the city into a Gothic nightmare. Lightning illuminated the cathedral's spires in strobing bursts, each flash revealing gargoyles that seemed to have shifted position, their stone faces wearing new expressions of anticipation. The modern buildings receded into darkness, leaving only the ancient architecture highlighted against the storm-ravaged sky.

  In her apartment, her grandmother's books had grown restless. Twice, she found volumes open to pages she hadn't touched, their margins filled with annotations that seemed to write themselves in familiar, impossible handwriting. The air grew thick with the scent of old leather, copper, and something else—something that reminded her of John Doe's perfectly preserved flesh.

  Her computer screen flickered between her methodical case notes and fragments of text she hadn't written: ancient prophecies in languages she shouldn't understand but somehow did. The crystalline samples in her bag pulsed in rhythm with each lightning strike, their patterns now forming a clear message she refused to acknowledge.

  The pendant at her throat had become a compass, tugging her toward St. Michael's Cathedral with increasing urgency. When she checked her reflection before leaving, the mirror showed momentary glimpses of another face beneath her own—older, knowing, with eyes that held centuries of secrets—her grandmother's eyes.

  Time itself stuttered and stretched as midnight drew closer. The clock on her wall ticked arrhythmically, its hands occasionally moving backward before lurching forward again. Her phone's digital display showed impossible times: 11:60, 23:65, 13:13. Modern technology surrendering to ancient forces awakening in the city's bones.

  Outside her window, shadows moved against the storm winds, converging on the cathedral. Some cast no reflection in the rain-slicked streets; others moved with inhuman grace across the Gothic rooflines. Eve found herself cataloging these impossibilities with the same clinical precision she'd used in countless autopsies, her scientific mind struggling to maintain rationality even as reality frayed around her.

  Her phone illuminated with two quick message notifications. The first, from Tom, read: "Those samples? They're gone—all of them, even my backups. Be careful."

  The second, from an unknown number, appeared with unsettling timing: "Time to choose, Dr. Blackwood."

  Eve dressed strategically: dark blue jeans, a black turtleneck for mobility, practical boots, and a waterproof coat. Her credentials and the mysterious business card went into an inner pocket, along with a small notebook and a pen.

  The warmth of her apartment fell away as she stepped into the rain-swept night. St. Michael's Cathedral loomed ahead, its ancient stones seeming to absorb the darkness rather than reflect it. Behind her, in the desk drawer where she'd hidden her final samples, the blood had completely crystallized, forming patterns that exactly matched a diagram in her grandmother's oldest book—one that warned of the convergence of worlds when the barriers between natural and supernatural would begin to fail.

  As soon as Eve reached the cathedral steps, the clock struck midnight. The massive wooden doors swung open silently, revealing only darkness within. Taking a deep breath, Dr. Evelyn Blackwood—woman of science, seeker of truth—stepped across the threshold and into a world where everything she thought she knew was about to change.