"You okay?"

Alexia winced. "I'm fine," she said, sweating. "Redfield got out of the cooler and bloody shot me."

He gave her a strange look. They'd been holed up, alone, in Alexander's laboratory in the mansion for the last hour while Alexia played with the equipment. Something about T-Veronica, she'd said, and when Grayson had asked for elaboration, Alexia had just mumbled about synthesizing a new sample because the virus was too volatile for long-term storage, and then something about Steve. "Alexia," he said, "nobody but us has been up here. How the fuck could Redfield have shot you?"

"She didn't shoot me—never mind. Forget it." Alexia wiped her face on her lab coat, then resumed fiddling with the centrifuge.

"You sure you're okay?"

"I'm bloody fine," she snapped.

"Jesus," he said. "Calm down. You want some tea? Coffee?"

"Coffee," she said, without looking up from her work.

Grayson leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, but she ignored him. He frowned. "What crawled up your ass and died?"

"Nothing. Coffee, please."

One thing he'd learned about women was that whenever they said nothing was wrong, everything was wrong. But Grayson left it alone; she'd cool off eventually. "Be back," he said, and left.

The hallway was dimly lit by antique oil lamps that cast everything in a greasy yellowish light. Suits of armor stood silent vigils along walls wainscoted in dark wood. Eerie landscapes framed in French gold-leaf hung on the walls, and here and there were showcases that displayed fine porcelain, glittering gold and silver treasures, handmade dolls on beds of dark velvet…

He turned a corner, walked right into someone. Claire stared at him, bewildered. "Grayson?" she said. "Holy shit."

"How the hell did you get in here?"

"Elevator," she said.

Grayson knew the one; it was in Edward's study and went down to his old laboratory. "You need to get outta here," he said. "Alexia's here. She knows you got out, said you shot her."

"I shot a weird tentacle thing," she said, puzzled.

That confirmed what he'd suspected: Alexia controlled the plant. How she controlled it was another question entirely, but Grayson guessed it had something to do with biochemicals or electrical signals—things far beyond his understanding—and nothing to do at all with psychic powers. "You need to get outta here," he repeated. "Fast. Before Alexia sends another one after you."

"Wait," Claire said, brow furrowing. "Alexia's real?"

"It's a long story."

"And you're saying Alexia sent that tentacle thing after me?"

Grayson nodded.

"Holy shit," Claire said, and massaged her forehead as if a migraine had suddenly struck her. "How the fuck do I always end up in weird shit?" she asked. "First Raccoon City, now fucking tentacle women. I swear to fucking God, I feel like I'm in some campy horror movie."

"Yeah," he said, "I know that feeling."

"Have you seen Steve anywhere?"

Grayson shook his head.

"Shit," Claire said. "Look, you should come with me, Grayson." She looked at him. "I saw some gross shit downstairs, and I bet Alexia had something to do with it."

"Gross shit?

"Some weird mutant guy," she said. "Been dead for years, looks like. Had an emerald earring."

Now he knew where Alexander had gone, and now he had a million questions for Alexia. "Good to know," he said. "Look," he continued, thumbing over his shoulder, "if you go around that corner and follow the hallway down, take that first left. It'll take you outta here. When you're in the hydroponic yard—you'll know what I mean when you're there—cross it and go down that corridor there. There's an elevator that'll take you up to the main facility. I dunno how you're gonna get out of Antarctica, but I wish you the best, Claire. Maybe there's a snow-truck still around somewhere."

"What do you mean maybe?"

"Alexia destroyed the trucks."

"There's no other way?

"Place gets supplies—has to—but the next shipment isn't due until January."

"Goddammit," Claire said.

"Goddammit indeed." Alexia appeared at the end of the hallway, lit from behind in a nimbus of sickly lamplight. "You're Claire Redfield," she said, walking toward them, her footsteps muffled by the dusty Oriental runner. A scalpel flashed in her hand, and she slashed her palm, the blood erupting into flames like a sorceress's trick, filling the air with the clawing reek of chemical hellfire. "Your little friend killed my brother," Alexia said, the firelight chasing shadows across the delicate planes of her face, catching in her eyes like ruby pinpricks. "And you let him, Redfield."

"Alexia, stop," Grayson said, stepping between them and raising his hands, palms turned outward. "Claire wasn't there when Alfred died. It was just Steve."

"Who you let get away!" Alexia shouted, her eyes flashing. "I gave you one simple test of loyalty, Grayson—to close the bloody door on Burnside—but you let him go, told him to leave."

"Alexia, he's seventeen-years-old. A kid! Alfred killed his dad."

"Now you dare turn on my brother, too?"

"Grayson, we need to go," Claire said, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him away. "She's gonna kill you."

"She's not," he said, and lunged at Alexia, wresting her conflagrant arm and pushing her against the wall, the intense heat of the flames making him sweat, searing his skin. "Go!" he yelled at Claire, finding it increasingly difficult, despite being much bigger and heavier than Alexia, to keep her restrained. She was far stronger than her tall, willowy form suggested, and it was only a matter of moments, Grayson knew, before she broke free of the bear-hug.

"Grayson—"

"Go, Claire," he hissed, gritting his teeth, straining to keep Alexia up against the wall. The flesh on his arm had burned to a deep, raw red."I can't keep her still much longer."

Claire gave him a worried, apologetic look, said, "I'll find you later, I promise," and she bolted like a spooked animal.

Alexia threw him off her, his foot catching on the runner, and he went down hard. "You let her get away," she said, and she tried to chase Claire, but Grayson grabbed Alexia's ankle and yanked her to the floor, straddling her back and using the full weight of his body to pin her down. He knew she could have bucked him off her, but she lay there instead, the flames going out in a cloud of acrid smoke.

"Why?" Alexia said miserably, bunching the carpet between her fingers. "They killed Alfred, Grayson." He didn't need to see her face to know that she was crying.

"Steve killed Alfred," Grayson reminded her, the skin on his arm smoothing, reverting to its former tan. He stood up, once he was sure she'd cooled off. "Claire had nothing to do with it," he told her. "Let her go, Lex. For Christ's sake, just let her go."

Alexia hugged him and buried her face in his shirt, and it was hard to imagine that this woman had had anything to do with Alexander's death. But who else could it have been? "I got more bad news," he said, and stroked her hair. "I know what you did to Alexander."

She looked up at him, tears rimming her wet, pink eyes, and suddenly her expression chilled as if a pall of ice had settled over it, the emotion evaporating from her face. "You do?" she said.

"Claire found his body in Edward's laboratory."

Alexia climbed to her feet. "Let's return to father's laboratory, and I'll tell you everything."

And she did.

Someone knocked at the door. Judging by its politeness, and the fact the door hadn't been flung open yet, she knew it wasn't Grayson. Alexia turned down the volume of her record player, put down her pen and closed her diary, and said, "Come in."

Scott entered, setting down a tray of tea on the end-table beside the door. He looked disconcerted, grim. "Alexander found my research notes," he said without preamble, pouring tea into her cup, then adding the milk and sugar.

They had devised the cipher together, but had intentionally designed it so that neither of them could read it without her key. "It will simply look like a bunch of gibberish to him, Scott," she said soothingly. "Father can't read it."

"Alexander's threatening Grayson if we don't hand over the key." He set her tea down in front of her.

"Threatening?"

"Spencer found out about the Origin virus," he said. "Alexander must have told him. Spencer wants Grayson transferred to the Arklay Lab."

Alexia stared, disbelieving, her heart lurching uncomfortably in her chest. "Why?"

"For Project W," Scott said.

"I thought that project concluded," she said.

"Only the first phase," Scott said, and sat down on the edge of her bed. "My guess? Because of how well Grayson's taken to Origin, Spencer likely wants to advance him to the second phase of the project as a fourteenth candidate."

"We can't let him do this, Scott."

"We can't let Alexander have the key either, princess. Even if we did, I wouldn't trust him to keep his word," he said, and shook his head. "If Umbrella gets their hands on the Origin sample? Who knows what Spencer will do with it." Scott sighed, buried his face in his hands. "I never meant for my virus to be used as a weapon," he said. "I did it for Grayson. He was going to be born with birth defects, and I couldn't have a son that—I made a mistake. I wanted to play God and make a better human species, and now? Now Spencer's going to get his hands on Origin."

"Father wants the same for me," Alexia said, quietly. "That's why Code: Veronica was created. To make me the bloody Eve to Grayson's Adam."

"Code: Veronica was blatant plagiarism," Scott said. "Alexander took all the credit for the work I did, and didn't even have the decency to treat you like kids. Princess, if it's any consolation, I never wanted any of that for you." He reached over, engulfing her hands in his paw-like ones, and squeezed gently. "Your dad and Edward wanted that, but all I ever wanted was for you and Alfred to be happy." Scott smiled. "Though," he teased, "I wouldn't be disappointed if you and Grayson gave me grandkids someday."

She managed a smile, just barely, and thought about cryostasis and how long she'd be asleep, and whether or not Grayson would have moved on by then with someone else. "That's still quite a long way away, Scott," she said.

Scott chuckled. "No pressure, princess. Don't worry."

"We can't let father get away with this," Alexia said, meeting Scott's eyes, her expression chilling. "We need to do something, Scott."

Scott stared at her with gravity, an uncharacteristic stoniness in his face. Silence hung thick in the air between them. Then, finally, Scott said, "I'll take care of Alexander." He glanced at her father's teacup on the tray. "If I slip Alexander some Lorazepam, he'll be out like a light." His gaze shifted to her. "Meet me down in your grandfather's laboratory. Then you can do whatever you need to do with Alexander."

"Dad helped you kill Alexander?"

Alexia shook her head. "Scott simply brought Alexander down there," she said, perched on the stool like a pale heron on a bollard, draping one long white leg over the other. "I injected father with the T-Veronica, after Alfred had his fun with father and a scalpel. Alexander died from the mutation, and I left him there to rot. He deserved nothing else, Grayson."

Grayson said nothing. So Alexander had wanted to offer him up as a sacrificial lamb to Spencer and get in his good graces, while his father had injected him with a virus because he hadn't wanted a son with birth defects. He couldn't really say which was worse. "Some life I have," he said bitterly. "Either an experiment, or a correction."

"You're neither of those things to me," Alexia said. "I love you, Grayson, even if I'm terrible at showing it." She stood up, walked over and sat beside him on the counter. "I'm sorry for what happened in the hallway. I didn't mean to burn you."

"I'm sorry for pinning you down like a criminal."

Alexia grinned lasciviously. "I would have liked it better had there been no clothes involved."

"Didn't realize you had kinks, Lex."

"Oh, I'm sure I have several. It simply remains to be seen what they are." She looked at him, still grinning. "Suppose we'll need to experiment, won't we? For now, however, we need to focus on finding Burnside."

"Lex…"

"He's not getting away with killing Alfred." Alexia paused. "Redfield, however," she said, and walked over to the centrifuge, punching a few buttons on the display, "I'm not focused on." She glanced back at him. "See? I'm capable of compromising."