She’s silent for a long beat, her watchful eyes never wavering. “I bet you have a real hard-on for Dali.”

A smile twitches at my lips. “I hope you don’t lose your edge, Blakely.”

She stands suddenly. “Then don’t take it from me, Alex.”

I glance at the syringe in my hand, a heavy weight filling my chest. “I simply have no choice.”

I push off the stool and have her in my grasp. She attempts to wrap the chain around my neck, but I step on the length, locking her wrists by her sides. Hand clamped to the back of her neck, I stare down into her face. Those piercing eyes promise malice.

“I’ll try to be gentle.”

“Go to hell.”

I sink the needle into her arm and watch as her pupils dilate. Blakely becomes docile, her body going slack, and I quickly wrap an arm around her waist to catch her. I carry her to the gurney and lay her on the bedding, removing the chains and securing her cuffs to the side bars.

As I ready the drip bag with anesthesia, she croaks out a word.

“What did you say?” The combination of the drug and the anesthesia is dangerous, and I have to adjust the dose carefully.

When she says nothing more, I clip the bag to the bar and insert the needle into her arm. She’ll be completely under in less than a minute.

“I was thinking about time earlier,” I say, as I place adhesive over the tube on her arm to keep it in place, “and how if only I could send you on a course at the speed of light, I could slow the necrosis in your brain…maybe even revert the process.”

She swallows, straining to keep her eyes open and locked on me.

“That’s absurd, I know. A foolish, whimsical theory that has no basis.” I stroke her hair, my fingers splaying the blond layers over her shoulder. “If there was a way to do this differently…for you, I assure you, I’d try.”

But that’s not our reality. The desire to cure her must outweigh the risk. No matter the pain, no matter the torture for us both.

I won’t fail her.

“I think about that moment between us outside the warehouse,” I say, as she starts to fall under. “When my emotions were soaring, when you asked me how I felt, to describe it to you. What you were truly asking me for was this right here. You were pleading with me to help you, Blakely—and I’ve never wanted anything more.”

Her lips move, and I lean in to get closer.

“You’re not the doctor…you’re the monster,” she whispers. A reference to Frankenstein.