I get in.
The door closes and the sidewalk noise cuts off like someone hit mute.
Soren is sitting up straight, knuckles braced on his knees, looking at the privacy screen.
"That truth capsule. Is it a new batch."
"Yes."
"It's unstable."
"So."
"Don't hand it out."
His tone is the same one he uses with his board.
I laugh, short. "Are you worried I'll hurt people."
He finally turns his head.
"I'm worried people will hurt you."
【I said it.】
【Did she hear it as concern.】
【No. You have to be cold. Cold is how she stays alive.】
I'm staring at the ring on his right hand.
Matte black titanium. The kind of object a hedge-fund kid might pick out of a Park Avenue jeweler's discreet drawer. The inside of the band has a hairline silver line etched all the way around — a single thin trace, easy to miss unless you know to look.
In my first life, the audio that buried me was extracted from inside that ring.
A clip of me, in my voice. "Once Vivienne Ashby-Vance is dead, Soren is mine."
I never said it. I'd never said the word mine about anyone in my life.
I reach for his hand.
His whole body locks.
"What are you doing."
【She's touching me.】
【Her hand is still cold.】
【Should I close my fingers around hers. No. She'll run.】
I try to pull the ring off his finger.
His other hand catches my wrist. Not hard. Just final.
"Iris. Don't touch that."
And the inner voice cuts out.
The car goes silent in a way that I can feel against my eardrums.
I look up.
For the first time, the discipline in Soren's face is broken. Something that looks like panic flickers at the edge.
I say it slowly.
"What's in this ring."
From the front passenger seat, Wesley turns and smiles.
"Miss Marchetti. Mr. Ashby's personal effects aren't yours to handle."
I look at Wesley.
The smile is steady.
But from the band of the ring under my fingers, a second voice — lower, sandier, threaded through with metal — comes through.
【She figured it out.】
【She doesn't make it to morning.】
My skin goes cold from the inside.
That isn't Soren.
The voice is lower, drier, like it's coming through metal mesh.
I let go of his hand and arrange my face into nothing.
Soren is still holding my wrist. He sees something in me change.
"You're not okay."
【Did I scare her.】
【This is Wesley's fault.】
Wesley says, mild: "Soren. Mount Sinai East. We're here."
The Range Rover slides up to the patient entrance.
Soren stands up out of the car and his knees almost give. Wesley is at his elbow before I can put my hand on the door.
"Sir. You haven't eaten today."
I watch the two of them with the back of my mind taking notes.
In my first life I thought Wesley was loyal.
In my second life I learned he had been waiting 5 years for Soren to fail a board fitness review so he could move on the neuro division.
I take the jar out of my bag and pull out a pale-gold capsule.
Soren's throat moves.
I hold it out toward Wesley instead.
"Mr. Vance. Why don't you try it for him."
Wesley's smile loses half a degree.
"Miss Marchetti. That isn't necessary."
"Worried about poison."
He doesn't answer. Soren cuts in first.
"I'll take it."
I move my hand back.
"$10 million first."
Wesley snaps. "He is in medical distress. Are you really doing this right now."
I nod once.
"Yes."
Soren pulls his phone out himself. He doesn't look at Wesley. He authorizes the wire transfer on his thumbprint.
My banking app pings.
I put the capsule into the center of his palm.
He snaps it between his molars. The wax dissolves. The compound vaporizes into the soft palate. Within 4 seconds the color is coming back into his face.
【Sweet.】
【That's the joy from the day she got her first grant check.】
【She must have been so proud.】
My breath stops in my throat.
He can read the source. He can read which one of my days he is eating.
In my first life he never told me he could do that.
The elevator chime sounds behind us.
The doors open and Vivienne Ashby-Vance is standing in the cab.
She sees me, sees Soren still holding the empty wax disc, and her face shuts.
"You. Again."
Vivienne Ashby-Vance is 58 years old and looks 45. Black wool Akris coat, hair pulled back, the kind of mouth that has lived its entire life inside a board meeting.
In my first life, the cocktail at her 60th at the Carlyle was where she collapsed. She came out of the hospital 18 hours later and the first sentence out of her mouth was, "Iris Marchetti did this to me."
That sentence was the nail.
She walks out of the elevator. Her eyes flick to the inch of air between Soren's shoulder and mine.
"Soren. I told you. She is not to come near you again."
Soren says, "My business. Not yours."
Vivienne smiles without showing teeth. "You think she's keeping you alive. She's treating you as an ATM with a heartbeat."
I nod.
"You're right, Mrs. Ashby-Vance."
She freezes.
I put my hand out. "So this 1 capsule today, your son paid $10 million for it. If you think that's expensive, you're welcome to have him cough it back up."
Soren coughs into his fist. 【Even her insults sound like music.】
Vivienne's voice goes thin. "You have no manners."
She lifts her hand to strike me.
Soren steps in front of me and catches her wrist mid-air.
"Enough."
Vivienne stares at him as if she's never seen his face before. "You are stopping me — for her."
Wesley clears his throat. "Mrs. Ashby-Vance. Miss Marchetti's product does measurably help your son. The concern is provenance. Unregulated formulations. Risk exposure for the family."
In one sentence he has put the gun back in my hand.
Vivienne turns the cold back onto me. "Provenance unknown. Send it to a lab. The Ashbys do not consume goods of unclear provenance."
That is the sentence I have been waiting for.
I take a sealed jar out of my case — a fresh one, never opened, the wax stickers intact.
"Fine. I'll consent to lab work. On 2 conditions. The sample is drawn by the hospital, on camera. And the entire chain of custody is livestreamed on my account. Results posted publicly within 90 minutes."
Wesley's smile dims.
Vivienne says, "You don't get to dictate a livestream in my son's medical setting."
I look at her. "One second ago you wanted lab work. One second later you don't want it in public. Mrs. Ashby-Vance. What are you actually afraid of."
Two nurses at the station have stopped pretending not to listen.
Vivienne is stuck on the wrong side of her own demand.
Soren says, quietly, "Do it her way."
【Public is better.】
【This time no one gets to put a hand on her.】
This time.
Something in my sternum lurches.
They set up in a private analytics suite on the 3rd floor. I insist that the hospital lab tech draws the samples — not Wesley's people, not Vivienne's people. Random vial, random ampule.
Wesley tries twice to drift close to the jar. I block him with my shoulder each time.
"Miss Marchetti. I am not the enemy."
I smile. "Every favor you've done me, Mr. Vance — I've kept a record."
The lenses of his glasses tilt and reflect the overhead light.
My TikTok Live goes up. Within 6 minutes I have 14,000 viewers. Within 9 minutes I have 41,000. The comments are scrolling in italic columns down the side of my phone screen:
@nyc_gossipdaily: omg the capsule girl is LIVE
@finance_baby: wait this is at sinai is that VIVIENNE ASHBY-VANCE
@perfumer_drama: $10M PER CAPSULE???
Just as the first sample goes into the spectrometer, the elevator opens and my mother walks out, towing my father by the elbow. Paige is behind them, eyes already pink, hand pressed to her sternum like the room is short on air.
My mother takes one look at the livestream banner and bursts into tears.
"Iris. Are you out of your mind. Are you broadcasting this. Your sister is sick. Your father has a heart condition. We are standing in a hospital."
My father's face goes the color of cured ham. "Shut that camera off. Apologize to Mrs. Ashby-Vance. Now."
The comments speed up:
@truecrime_aunt: family meeting on LIVE this is INSANE
@paige.marchetti.fan: she's so cold to her own mom
@nyc_gossipdaily: capsules sold to a sick CEO. is that even legal
Paige walks to Vivienne's side and lowers her voice to a tremor.
"Iris. I know you need the money. But Soren's body isn't a place to experiment."
The lab tech walks back in with the first sheet.
"Sample A. No controlled substances detected. No common toxins detected. Compound profile consistent with patented aromatherapeutic stack."
Paige's face stalls.
Wesley says, smoothly, "Initial screen is preliminary. We should run a deeper panel."
I nod. "Run it."
Sample B. Clean.
Sample C. Clean.
The comments turn.
@finance_baby: SO HER CAPSULES ARE FINE WHO LIED
@truecrime_aunt: who said poison???
@perfumer_drama: paige looks like she's about to faint why
Vivienne's face is unmovable in a way that means it is moving very fast underneath.
My father and mother stop talking.
I turn to Paige.
"Sister. Would you mind if we tested the capsules in your purse, too."
Paige's hand closes over her bag without thinking about it.
I smile.
"What are you so nervous about."
Tears fall faster. "Iris. Are you really going to kill me on a livestream."
I open my mouth to answer.
Soren's hand closes around my forearm and pulls me a foot backward.
In the same instant, Paige drops.
She goes down hard — knees, then hip — and on the way to the floor her fingers catch in my sleeve and yank.
Every phone in the hallway captures it from the angle that makes it look like I shoved her.
Paige hits the linoleum with her hand at her chest, breathing in fast hitches.
My mother screams and lunges for her. "POTS — it's her POTS — she needs water — someone get a doctor —"
My father shoulders past Vivienne and shoves me back two steps.
"You knew she has a heart condition and you triggered her. On purpose."
Soren steps in front of me and takes the second shove on the breastbone.
My father stops.
Soren says, in a voice I have not heard from him in any life, "If you touch her again, I will personally bankrupt Marchetti Supply by Friday."
The hallway goes silent.
【Good. She wasn't hit.】
【Every one of these Marchettis can rot.】
I look at the line of his shoulders in front of me and the noise in my chest is not gratitude. It is alertness.
In my first life he stood between me and someone too, once. He stood between me and Wesley in this same hospital, in fact.
Three weeks later he handed Wesley the lab report.
The medical team wheels Paige out on a gurney. Wesley walks alongside her as far as the swing doors and turns back to me.
"Miss Marchetti. The hallway cameras will sort the rest of this out."
He delivers it with too much certainty.
I clock it instantly.
The cameras will fail.
10 minutes later a charge nurse jogs out of the security office.
"There's been a technical issue. Hallway 3-East was offline for the last 11 minutes. We have nothing in that window."
Vivienne lets out a single dry laugh. "What a coincidence."
My mother is crying into both hands. "Iris. Do you hate your sister this much. After everything she did for you. After how much she let you have, growing up."
I turn to her.
"What did she ever let me have."
My mother is so surprised she answers honestly. "Her health is fragile. We had to make space for her. You're the older one. You were supposed to understand."
I count it on my fingers in front of the livestream.
"She took my early-decision slot at Yale. You said her health was fragile. She took my Scholastic Award portfolio and submitted it under her name. You said she needed the confidence. She is taking my capsule formula right now. You're saying she just wants to help the family."
My mother's lips go gray.
My father shouts, "Shut your mouth."
I do not.
I take the second chalk-white capsule out of my jar and hold it up so the camera can read the label.
"Since the hallway cameras failed, we'll try a different witness."
I look at Wesley.
"Mr. Vance. Are you brave enough to take this."