Page 38 of Brody
Where the brewing area had been all wood and organic curves, this space was sleek lines and clinical precision.Gleaming stainless steel surfaces reflected the bright white lighting with an almost painful clarity.Every piece of equipment was arranged with mathematical precision that spoke to someone who knew exactly how I worked, how I moved, how I thought.
Spectrometers.Centrifuges.Microscopy stations.Analytical equipment that would make my university colleagues weep with envy.All brand-new, all top-of-the-line.I moved through the space in a daze, my fingertips brushing equipment that I knew from experience was worth millions.This wasn’t just a lab.This was a goddamn temple to science.
Glass-walled containment units lined one wall, a separate climate-controlled environment for the most sensitive testing.Several whiteboards stood ready for use, pristine and blank, waiting for my thoughts and formulas to fill them.Computer stations for data analysis were positioned at strategic intervals, their screens displaying complex molecular structures I didn’t recognize.
But what caught my attention most was the small clean-room chamber for compound synthesis.A transparent cube within the larger lab, equipped with specialized ventilation and sealed access points.It was exactly what I would need to isolate and stabilize the volatile compounds from the Cradle of Life water.
“We figured you’d need proper equipment if we’re going to revolutionize shifter medicine,” Brody said, watching my reaction with those too-perceptive eyes.His voice was casual, but his posture was tense.Shoulders tight, hands slightly clenched.Like my approval mattered more than he wanted to admit.
“This is…” I swallowed, fighting the lump in my throat.Years of building walls, of telling myself he meant nothing, and here he was, creating a space that honored my work, that anticipated my needs before I’d voiced them.“This is better than most university labs I’ve worked in.”
A specialized refrigeration unit hummed softly in one corner, designed for storing sensitive samples.Next to it stood an advanced microscope setup that would allow for real-time neural imaging.Exactly what I’d need to study the effects of the Cradle of Life water on shifter neurology.
“Tools are only as good as the person using them,” Brody replied, “And you are brilliant.”
His compliment caught me off guard.I’d spent years defending my research against skeptical colleagues; genuine praise felt like rain in a drought.
“Thank you,” I said, meeting his gaze directly.“But even brilliant minds need proper equipment.”My fingers trailed along the edge of the microscope, imagining the discoveries waiting within those lenses.
Brody stood closer than necessary, his presence a tangible force in the sterile room.I caught his scent beneath the antiseptic air, earthy and male.It was distracting in the most delicious way.
“Want a proper introduction to the Thornbern product line?”he asked.
“Absolutely.”
“Let’s go,” Brody said before leading me back through the decontamination chamber.The transition from sterile lab to aromatic brewery hit me again like a sensory tidal wave.We stepped into the main brewing area, my senses gorging on the rich bouquet of scents.
We now stood by the leather-backed stools lining the polished bar,where three small glasses awaited us, arranged in a perfect row.
I watched him move with practiced efficiency behind the bar, his hands moving in a familiar dance over bottles and glasses.He poured the amber liquid with a calculated precision, the rich aroma reaching me even from across the polished wooden surface.His movements were confident, controlled, but I caught something that triggered my analytical instincts.A subtle hesitation when he reached for the bottle.The way he gripped it just slightly too tightly, compensating for something.His left hand trembled for a fraction of a second before he steadied it against the bar.
Interesting.My mind filed away that observation for later analysis.
The first glass contained a rich amber liquid that caught the afternoon light filtering through the windows.The second held a deeper mahogany brew.The third was clear but slightly viscous, with an opalescent quality that seemed to glow from within.
He handed me the amber glass first.“This is Elysium.Limited edition, barrel-aged for three years in charred oak that’s been treated with a specific blend of botanical compounds.”
I lifted the glass to my nose, inhaling the complex bouquet.Caramel, chocolate, and raisin notes danced across my palate, but underneath was something indefinable that could only be described as magic.
One sip and my eyes widened.The flavor exploded across my tongue, rich and layered with hints of vanilla, oak, and something that made my cheetah purr with contentment.
“Oh my god,” I said.“That’s incredible.”
His smile was worth the momentary lapse in my professionalism.“High praise from an accomplished woman.”
I moved to the Home-Brew next, steeling myself for impact.One tiny sip and my throat burned like I’d swallowed liquid fire.The alcohol hit my enhanced metabolism, making my eyes water and my head spin.
“Jesus,” I gasped, setting the glass down with a sharp click.“You weren’t kidding about the wallop.”
“Shifters can handle it,” he said with amusement dancing in his eyes.“Humans would probably go blind.”
“Or spontaneously combust,” I muttered, eyeing the innocent-looking liquid with newfound respect.
Finally, I picked up the glass of tonic and sniffed it, the scent herbal and complex.This I approached with methodical scrutiny, noting the viscosity as I swirled it gently and the way the tonic clung to the inside of the glass like a fine wine with legs.“This is the treatment you’ve been giving Logan?”I asked, taking the smallest possible taste.
He nodded.
The flavor was surprisingly bitter but not unpleasantly so, with undertones of honey.But beyond the robust taste, I felt something else.The liquid sent warmth blossoming through my core.My cheetah purred with unexpected contentment, like coming home after years of wandering.A subtle calming of my constantly racing thoughts.A gentle quieting of the restless energy that had coiled within me for years.This tonic was serenity in a glass.
