The words were not in a language he expected. They were in English. Clear, neat English. Chronos Infusion Pump — Patent 1924. Arthur read the words twice. Then a third time. He frowned. Infusion pump? Patent? His fear did not vanish at once, but it changed shape. The object no longer looked like something made in secret. It looked like something made with pride.
He moved the velvet away a little more. Beneath the device was a leather-bound journal, its corners worn soft. Arthur opened it carefully. The first page was filled with handwriting so neat it almost looked printed. There were dates, measurements, drawings, and notes about flavor. “Vanilla,” Arthur whispered. He looked back at the vials. The amber liquid was not poison. At least, it did not seem to be. The journal called them essences. Vanilla. Chicory. Orange peel. Roasted fig. Arthur sat down slowly, feeling his fear turn into wonder.