Page 58 of The Naughty Professor

She leaned back against the counter, folding her arms.“Or, wild idea, we could find someone else to test it.”

“I can’t ask someone else to take that risk.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

I looked up at her.“Both.”

Her expression softened for a heartbeat, then she turned away to grab the data tablet.“You’ve got a death wish, Dr.Sterling.”

I smiled faintly at that.“It’s not a death wish.It’s a hypothesis.”

“Yeah, one where you’re both the control and the variable.”She tapped the tablet, data flickering across her black-lacquered nails.“I’m logging the temperature curve.You know, for when the coroner asks.”

“You worry too much,” I said, though my heart was thudding.

“You worry too little,” she shot back.“You don’t even have a proper medical monitor hooked up.You’re just going to—what?—stab yourself and hope for the best?”

“I’m not hoping,” I said.“I’m measuring.”

The serum let out a small hiss as the reaction calmed.The blue light steadied into a perfect, liquid pulse.It was beautiful—steady, sure, almost serene.

Juniper watched it, arms crossed, her eyeliner catching the light like a razor’s edge.“It’s hypnotic,” she murmured.“I kind of hate it.”

“It’s finished,” I said.“Look at that clarity.”

“It’s too clear.Like it’s daring you to ruin your life.”

“Hand me a sterilized syringe, please.”

She didn’t move.“Dr.Sterling…”

“Juniper.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I do.”

She hesitated, then reached for the tray, pulling a sealed syringe from its wrapper with a snap.“You know what?I’m not even going to try to stop you.Just…don’t die.You’re the only boss who buys me decent coffee.”

“Duly noted,” I said, forcing a smile.

I filled the syringe slowly.The serum coiled inside the glass like a living thread of light.It looked alive—and in a way, it was.My pulse matched its rhythm.

Juniper leaned on the counter, studying me.“He must’ve really gotten under your skin.”

I didn’t pretend not to understand.“He did.”

She nodded once, quietly.“Then at least let this be about you, not about him.”

“I don’t know how to separate the two,” I said.

She exhaled, a sound somewhere between annoyance and sympathy.“Fine.Inject your romantic-chemical-suicide cocktail.Just give me a head start to grab the defibrillator.”

“You’re a terrible nurse.”

“Yet here I am.”

I rolled up my sleeve.The lab felt suddenly too quiet, the hum of the ventilation hood like distant thunder.“Ready?”