He looks at the bottle again. Small. Ordinary. Pathetic, really.

And yet—

“You’re overdoing it,” he mutters.

Her brows knit. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve seen people on this stuff,” he says, tone rougher now, less certain. “They don’t look like… that.” He gestures vaguely at her—too alert, too sharp around the edges. “You’re burning through it.”

Her lips part, but no words come out.

“Dosage?” he presses.

“That’s none of your business.”

“It is when you pass out at your desk next week and I have to cover for you,” he shoots back. “So?”