The fluorescent lights of the lab hum, a sound that now drills into Liane Morel's skull with the intensity of a jackhammer. Her crumpled lab coat feels like sandpaper against her skin, each thread a distinct, irritating sensation. Her fingers, usually steady, tremble as she tries to steady a beaker, the clink of glass echoing like a thunderclap. The air, usually just air, is thick with the scent of chemicals, and now, something else. A new, potent aroma that makes her jaw clench involuntarily.