I didn't sleep that night. Not truly.
The paper with the alchemical mark stayed beneath my pillow.
I kept waking to touch it. Not from fear. From instinct. Like it might vanish.
But by morning, I knew where I'd seen the symbol not just at the chamber gate.
I'd seen a version of it embroidered in gold thread once.
On a robe. The inner lining. Torn, half-burned.
Buried in a forgotten chest of cloth scraps meant to be used for polishing glassware.
That chest had been moved to the storage room behind the dissection hall.
Most avoided it. The scent lingered. But not me.
I waited until dusk, when the other assistants left for the evening meal.
Inside, among yellowed cloth and old aprons, I found the robe again.
Black silk. Heavy. Lined in dark blue.
And there it was:
A crest.
The alchemical circle, altered.
Hidden, like a family emblem meant to be buried.
It didn't belong to the Empress.
Nor to the physicians.
It belonged to a prince.
Back in my quarters, I stared at the mark.
Was it Prince Zhen's?
Or someone close to him?
Was that why he was drugged?
Because he once wore this?
Or because he knew who did?
The message he'd sent me wasn't just a reminder.
It was a test.
And now, I'd answered it without speaking a word.