"Wh-what ... her case ...?" Phoebe's voice cracked into a breathless whisper, staring blankly at the digital screen. Her hands shook violently, the tablet suddenly feeling heavier than a block of lead. Her mind, usually so sharp and corporate-driven, began to race down a dark, terrifying spiral.
Sweeping her gaze slowly around the vast perimeter of her quarters, she desperately sought an anchor, anything to stabilize her rapidly collapsing composure. But the walls seemed to close in on her, trapping her in a suffocating cage.
Desperate for a distraction, she forced her trembling legs to move, navigating toward the side table to pour a glass of water. But as the liquid slid down her throat, it didn't any relief, it felt harsh, bitter, and intensely hot, like battery acid burning through her esophagus.
"No, no! I shouldn't be indexing this. It's just ... it's just a sensationalized report," Phoebe muttered to the empty air, her voice desperate.
