Forbidden To Touch, Fated To Love
Forrest asks, voice carefully neutral.
I reach into my bag with hands that don't feel like my own, fingers closing around the familiar bottle. I pull it out—small, brown, unlabeled except for a handwritten sticker that says Metabolic Support in my sister's neat cursive. I've seen it a hundred times. I never once looked closer.
Forrest takes it from me, turning it over in his hands. He unscrews the cap, tips one of the pills into his palm—small, white, utterly unremarkable. He holds it up to the light, then brings it to his nose, inhaling once.