Eve
Her hand released me.
I stumbled backward, chest heaving, my palm smacking the wall behind me for support. "Amelia…"
Her pupils were dilating fast. She fell to her knees, clutching the side of the bed to hold herself up.
She was still conscious—but shaking.
I reached for her, instinct overriding reason. "I didn't mean to—oh Goddess—what did I—"
She grabbed my wrist with what little strength she had left. Her breath shallow. Her lips barely moved.
"Run."
Then her eyes rolled back.
Her body convulsed.
"AMELIA!" I screamed, trying to steady her, trying to grab anything—my phone, her wrist, anything—anything.
The door flew open behind me.
Men. Armed. Weapons drawn.
I froze.
The scene was wrong—terribly, tragically wrong. I was holding her. She was twitching. There was a syringe in her leg.
I knew what they saw.
They saw me.
They saw a threat. A monster. A beast that had harmed their precious therapist.
