Ozone, she thinks, that's what he is. His breath on her lips stings, suffocates. He backs her up against her desk, blade inches from her face, her body screaming, shriveling, shutting down. She can't breathe; the last time she saw him suddenly fractured and strange. "Let Echo be the best," a white coat covered in her blood, knife too sharp to cause any pain. Not at first. Alpha-Alpha-Alpha-, her mind skipping on that name over and over like a broken record.
Poison, she thinks, that's what it is. The wrong kind of oxygen running through her veins, pumping in her heart. Fear. Guilt. Something else--echoes of a memory that can't possibly be real. His hands on her thighs, holding her up around his waist. Her hair, longer. Her mind, gone. Had she always wanted to be a doctor? Didn't she? Did she? Whiskey. He'd called her--she'd thought--no. No. That's enough.