Prologue
Chemistry & Consequences
6 years ago
Violet
I don’t have time for this… not tonight.
The equations on my tablet blur until the numbers start bleeding into each other. I rub my eyes hard enough to see stars. My brain keeps offering helpful suggestions like:lie down and pretend you don’t exist,and honestly, it’s not the worst plan. I sigh, the taste of caffeine and frustration thick on my tongue. Exams are coming; my term paper’s half-dead, and this formula isn’t going to solve itself.
Every number has to be exact. Precision isn’t just science—it’s survival. One wrong decimal, and brilliance turns to poison.
I rake a hand through my hair and grab my coffee. It’s cold again.Of course it has.I should stop. I know I should. But rent’s due, and my campus job barely covers groceries, so here I am—Friday night, alone, cooking formulas instead of dinner. The money from this batch means no more sleepless nights counting what’s left in my account, praying it lasts until payday. It means I don’t have to call my mom with another excuse for why I can’t “come home for the weekend,” knowing she’d offer to send money she doesn’t have.
My parents gave everything to get me to get into Berkeley. Dad worked nights until his back gave out. Mom tutored kids after church to help cover my books. I’m barely hanging on, but I can’t let them down over something as stupid as rent.
A sharp knock makes me jump. My heart kicks once, hard. I shove the tablet under a pile of notes like a guilty reflex.
“Vi?” Cami bursts in, all perfume and chaos, golden curls bouncing like she’s never known exhaustion. She’s already dressed for a party she’s been begging me to go to. She’s everything California isn’t—New York polish wrapped in trouble. As a diplomat’s daughter, raised in penthouses and private schools, she’s different from me in every way. Yet, somehow, she decided I was worth keeping after we got paired in freshman English. We bonded over missing home—me from small-town Jersey, and she, a Manhattan royal pretending to survive cafeteria coffee.
“Still working?” She tilts her head at the mess of papers on my desk. “Come on. One night won’t kill you.”
I drag a hand down my face. “I can’t. I still have to—”
“Make drugs?” she cuts in, grinning. “You’ve been at this for hours, Vi. You’re not even trying to sell it tonight. Just come out, have a drink, andexistfor five minutes.”
“Cami, I need to finish this batch before rent’s due.” I don’t look up because she already knows why I do this. I keep it small and quiet, selling only to friends and people I trust. My formula’s clean—no fentanyl, no random kitchen chemicals—just something that lets people breathe for a little while.Something safe.
It pays for school. It keeps me here.
My drug, Zephyra, isn’t like anything else. The warmth hits first—slow, deep in your chest—then it spreads, fire looking for a way out. The air thickens; every inhale tastes sweet and heavy. Sound hums through your skin, colors get brighter, and for a heart beat, the world stops keeping time. Then it grabs you. You move without thinking, chasing heat and touch. Every brush of skin burns, too much and not enough all at once.
It’s not just pleasure. It’s a craving. And for a few hours, you believe the world was made for that feeling—-touching, feeling, and living.
But something’s wrong with it still. It’s stronger than ecstasy, too immersive. It magnifies every sense until it feels like falling in love, or something close to it.Too close.I only ever take half a dose. Just enough to feel the warmth, but not enough to drown.
My phone buzzes on the desk.
Incoming Call: Mom
Guilt twists in my stomach as I send it to voicemail. I’ll call her when I’m not balancing formulas and moral crises.
Cami sighs and drops into the chair across from me, heels dangling off her toes. “Vi, you can’t keep doing this forever. You’re too smart for this shit.”
I exhale, shoulders sagging.Maybe she’s right. Maybe one night won’t kill me.
“Fine,” I mutter. “One drink.”
Cami grins, triumphant. “That’s my girl.”
I forgot what it felt like to lose myself in the music and the moment. The weight of school, money, and everything else fades in the haze of neon lights, and the burn of my first drink. Cami grabs my hand and pulls me toward the dance floor. Her body moves as if she were born for it. Years of black-tie galas and prep school dances make her effortless on any dance floor; I’ve always envied how she can own a room without even trying. She’s wild, fearless; everything I'm not.
A familiar rush of recklessness hits, bright and heady, and a laugh bubbles out before I can stop it. The bass thrums through my chest. The heat of the crowd closes in, and I let go. We drink. We dance. For once, we just exist, caught in a moment where nothing else matters.
Cami leans in close, eyes sparkling. “Let’s have a little more fun,” she says, already pulling a small tin from her purse. The metal glints under the lights when she flips it open, revealing two iridescent pills.
Zephyra.
