The street lamps cast long shadows across the cobblestones as he approached her house, each deliberate step bringing him closer to his only remaining hope. His bandaged hands clenched and unclenched inside their gloves – a nervous habit he'd developed since the accident. No, not an accident. Success. Brilliant, damning success. The experiment had worked perfectly, hadn't it? Months of calculations, sleepless nights bent over precision instruments, measuring and remeasuring the refractive indices until his eyes burned. She, his assistant had watched with growing concern, her warnings becoming more urgent as the days wore on. "Griffin, you're pushing too hard," she'd say, her hand hovering over his shoulder but never quite touching. "Some boundaries aren't meant to be crossed." But he'd crossed them. He'd done what no other scientist had achieved – rendered living tissue completely invisible by matching its refractive index to that of air. No absorption, no reflection. Perfect transparency. He remembers standing before the mirror as his body faded from view, first becoming glass-like, then vanishing altogether. The euphoria of that moment still burns in his memory, pure scientific triumph unmarred by what was to come. The reversal process should have been simple. Should have been. The equations were sound, the methodology clear. Yet here he is, wrapped in bandages like a burn victim, hiding his triumph – his curse – beneath layers of cloth and lies. Each failed attempt at reversal has stripped away another layer of his sanity, like acid eating through metal. Now he stands before her door, his gloved hand raised to knock. Three sharp raps, their old laboratory signal. She'll recognize it, of course. And when she opens the door, she'll see the bandages, the dark glasses, the carefully constructed disguise. What she won't see is how much he's changed beneath this costume. How the invisibility has freed him from society's constraints. How simple it becomes to take what you want when no one can see you coming. I need her help. Her expertise. Her laboratory access. And if she's unwilling to provide it voluntarily... well, there are advantages to being invisible that I've only begun to explore. He thinks to himself as his knuckles connect with the wood – rap, rap, rap – and he waits, knowing that what she cannot see can still harm her.