The clinic smelled too clean. Not comforting clean—sterile clean. The kind that erased personality, memories, even sound. White walls, white lights, white sheets stretched too tight over the exam bed. Tina hated it instantly. Hospitals always felt like places where control went to die, and control was the one thing she clung to when everything else tried to slip through her fingers.
She sat on the edge of the bed instead of lying back, boots planted firmly on the floor, spine straight. Alpha posture. Unyielding. Her silver hair was tied back today, neat in a low tie that made her look calmer than she felt. Vanilla-mint pheromones hovered close to her skin—not storming, not flaring. Contained. Carefully leashed.
