“Each person’s chemistry is different,” he said, studying her closely. They were standing there casually at the counter, as if they’d met at the bar of a hotel or a ski chalet in the Alps and weren’t in the office at all. “So, and you must know this from our animal trials, each individual’s reaction time—and the reaction itself—is going to be different. Especially with women. Women are different from men, I don’t have to tell you that, different in every way, and there’s no saying how you’ll process this . . .” He trailed off, and she wondered what she must have looked like just then, her limbs rigid, her face clenched, a shrill pharmaceutical alarm ringing through her body. “Which won’t be a problem, Fräulein, not at all, so please don’t worry. The dose,” he said, “the dose is so very small, ja?”

She tried to smile, but her heart was in her throat: What had she done?

“Just think,” he was saying, and he had his hand at her elbow, leading her back to her desk, “you have a distinction now, you among all the other women in the world—you’re the first, Susi, the very first.”