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“Thank you for agreeing to speak with me. Before we begin, I want to be clear. This is a consult, not consent to treatment. You may stop at any point.”

I hate that I like her for saying it.

Theo sits on my right. Pepper sits on my left with her notebook open, but her hands folded on top of it as though she promised herself she wouldn’t pounce on the science.

Dr. Sawyer’s gaze moves between us. “Dr. Cole sent a summary, but I’d rather hear from you first. What is happening to your body?”

My mouth dries.

Pepper’s knee presses mine under the table.

I tell Sawyer the neatest version. I’m fading. I experience loss of physical consistency. I explain that water and touch help. I describe how Theo’s bond sometimes reaches me and sometimes it feels out of range. I talk about Pepper’s scent and touch making me more present than I know how to explain.

Sawyer listens without interrupting. That’s worse than skepticism in its own way.

When I finish, she says, “You’re describing recognition-continuity failure with episodic somatic instability.”

I blink. “I’m describing what now?”

Pepper leans toward me. “She means your body is losing the ability to recognize itself and to be recognized by the bond.”

Sawyer nods. “That’s a fair translation.”

Theo’s voice is low. “Why would water help?”

“Bodies attach regulation to sensory anchors,” Sawyer says. “Scent, pressure, temperature, sound, water, familiar touch. In rare cases, especially with bond trauma or compound exposure, those anchors can become necessary to maintain continuity.”

Pepper writes two words. Sensory anchors.

I look at the screen. “So, I’m not disappearing. I’m having a very intense continuity problem.”

A small smile touches Sawyer’s mouth. “That’s one way to put it.”

I want to trust her. That’s the most dangerous thing about her. She gives me language without making me feel foolish. She gives Pepper science solid enough to hold. She gives Theo plain answers when he asks for them. But hope feels like a dangerous thing.

“What would treatment do?” Theo asks.

“Reduce overactive bond feedback,” Sawyer says. “Create a quiet window in which Ezra’s body can relearn stable recognition without pain spikes and distortion.”

Pepper’s pencil stops. “Quiet window.”

Sawyer looks at her. “A temporary dampening protocol. This is nothing like bond cutting. Think of it as reducing noise so Ezra’s system can remember and lock on to the bond signal.”

Theo’s hand finds the back of my chair. “And the cost?”

“We cover the treatment through grants. But I get that you’re asking about side effects?”

Theo nods.

“In some cases, there’s a need for temporary scent muting. The protocol can cause reduced emotional feedback. Some patients report feeling distant from bonded partners during stabilization. That’s why we monitor so closely.”

In my mind, I can’t shake the image of the dream beta pressing both hands over his mouth. My skin prickles.

Pepper’s voice stays polite. “Could muting feedback also mute choice?”

Sawyer’s expression doesn’t change, but her eyes sharpen with interest. “That’s

an unusually good question.”