A little while later, you meet with Pascale in an empty room.

“Senora Pascale.”

“Monsieur Adamo.”

The Frenchwoman looks as innocuous as the day you met her.

“I have uncovered much about our mutual friend, Aster,” you begin. “Things that I wish to share with you, for I would like for us to work together on solving this Library mystery and ensuring as many lives as possible are saved. But… I require you to be frank with me, Senora. I need the truth so that I may trust you fully.”

“If I have ever said anything to make you doubt my intentions, you have my deepest apologies, Monsieur,” replies Pascale. “A lady has many secrets, but none that I would consider so vile as to warrant this mistrust. Whatever made you question my sincerity?”

You decide to be honest. “When I was last in your Personal Library, I took a sample of the blood from your handkerchief. After testing it, I found it to contain numerous toxins and poisons.” You look straight into Pascale’s eyes. “Signora, you have been ingesting poisons.”

Pascale, to her credit, doesn’t attempt to hide it. “My good Doctor, what you say is true, but if you will permit me the liberty of explaining myself, I can assure you that this is no cause for concern. You see, my area of alchemical interest is toxins, and often when testing potencies it is necessary to ingest trace amounts of the poison. I deeply apologise for keeping this from you; I was merely afraid of losing your respect, which I hold in the highest regard, since most find it unseemly for a woman of my status to be dabbling in a field so encroached with prejudices. But I…promise, my work has always been purely for scientific enquiry.”

“Scientific enquiry? So you mean to say – and I pray you will forgive me for the bluntness of my question, since I would appreciate an equally blunt answer – you have never used your toxins on another person?”

Pascale puts a dainty hand to her chest. “On my life, I have never hurt anyone with them.”

“Now, now, Pascale… you shouldn’t tell fiibbbbsssss.”

A familiar chill falls over the air as the Monitors coalesce behind you. You feel Shadow and Shush each place a single, skeletal-thin hand on your shoulders. As soon as they do, a sensation akin to being dumped in ice-cold water washes over you, and you suddenly find yourself running for your life. Behind, a lion bears down on you, while to your side a stranger you know to be a fellow Chosen runs with you. The many folds of the layers of your dress bunch in front of your petite feet, causing you to stumble, to slow. The other Chosen tries to drag you along faster, but you know you won’t make it. You know you’re going to die.

Your hand clutches a glass cylinder in your pocket.

When the Chosen next reaches down to drag you up, you lurch upwards, thrust the syringe deep into their back and jam the plunger flush. You watch their eyes widen in shock and pain, then expand further in realisation and betrayal. You watch their eyelids droop closed while the sedative courses through their veins.

As the Chosen goes limp and collapses to the ground, you drag yourself to standing and run the rest of the way to the penguin enclosure. Behind you, you can hear the lion tearing into the drugged Chosen. When you see the reflective water’s surface, you don’t hesitate. You jump.

You find yourself back in the room with Shadow and Shush behind you and Pascale in front, and you know you’ve just seen a memory that wasn’t your own. A memory of Pascale’s.

A memory of her stabbing, drugging, and murdering another human being.

You stare at Pascale.

Pascale stares at you.