Page 129 of Beautifully Scarred Omega

Unless this isn’t about heat management at all.

“Evie.” I keep my voice casual, but something cold is settling in my stomach. “Some of these participants are... older.”

“Mm-hm.” She doesn’t look up from her phone. “The trial includes a range of ages. They need to test how the compound affects different demographics—younger omegas, older omegas, pre- and post-menopausal. It’s standard protocol for pharmaceutical development.”

Standard protocol. Right.

But what kind of medication needs to be tested on post-menopausal omegas? What could Synthera possibly be developing that would affect a seventy-year-old woman who hasn’t had a heat in twenty years?

I turn another page.

And stop breathing.

ADVERSE EVENT LOG

The header sits at the top of a new section. I flip through the pages slowly, my eyes scanning the entries.

Participant 04 (F, 34)—Severe headache and dizziness at 4 hours post-administration. Resolved within 24 hours with supportive care.

Participant 07 (F, 28)—Acute nausea and vomiting. Participant required IV fluids. Resolved within 48 hours.

Participant 09 (F, 41)—Hormonal crash resulting in syncope. Scent gland inflammation observed. Participant hospitalized overnight for observation. Cleared to continue trial after 72-hour rest period.

I keep reading. The entries blur together—headaches, nausea, fainting, inflammation. Women’s bodies reacting badly to whatever Synthera is pumping into them. All of it documented in neat clinical language, as if that makes it acceptable. As if writing “resolved within 48 hours” erases the fact that a woman spent two days vomiting because of their experimental drug.

They’re getting hurt.

Hospitalized. IV fluids. Scent gland inflammation. These women signed up for a trial and Synthera is damaging them.

And they’re still running the trials. Recruiting. Paying women enough money to make them say yes.

I turn another page.

And my stomach drops.

Participant 03 (F, 70)—Tonic-clonic seizure at 8 hours post-administration. Duration: 1 min 47 sec. Post-ictal confusion observed. Emergency protocols initiated. Participant transferred to Lakeside General for observation. Hospitalization: 4 days. Emergency contact: none listed. Participant cleared to resume daily activities after 2-week recovery period. Notation: participant declined withdrawal from study. Formulation revised.

I flip back to the participant profiles. Find Participant 03.

The photo shows a woman with silver hair and deep-set eyes, her face lined with decades of living. She’s not smiling for the camera. Her expression is almost defiant—the face of someone who’s seen too much to be impressed by a photographer.

Seventy years old. And she had a seizure. Hospitalized for four days.

And they had no one to call. No family rushing to the hospital. Just a woman seizing alone in an observation room while researchers took notes.

And afterward—participant declined withdrawal from study.

She stayed. She had a seizure that could have killed her, spent four days in a hospital, and then she came back for more.

Why? How desperate do you have to be? How much money did they offer her? What kind of life does someone have to be living to decide that risking death in a clinical trial is worth it?

My stomach lurches.

“Sophie?” Evie’s voice comes from somewhere far away. “You’ve gone really pale. Are you⁠—”

“How is this legal?” The words come out sharp. Too sharp. I try to soften them, try to pull Sophie Dysart back over my face like a mask, but she won’t fit anymore. “This woman—Participant 03—she had a seizure. She was hospitalized for four days. She’s seventy years old. How is it legal to do this to her?”

Evie looks taken aback. “All clinical trials carry risks, Sophie. That’s why they exist—to identify problems before a drug goes to market. The participants know the risks. They sign extensive consent forms. And when adverse events occur, we have protocols⁠—”