Time seems to slow in the wake of his admission, Veronica stilled with an uncertain hand resting against her chest, fingers curled into the neck of her shirt. It doesn't hit her the way it rightly should, and that's probably the most terrifying part -- That she isn't simply nauseated, although there's some of that, too.

Physically, she's stuck, like her feet have been fixed to the floor, her stomach sloshing sickly with confusion.

What the fuck is wrong with her? Why does this keep happening?

"How do you know?" she finally manages, barely above a whisper, and swallows hard. "How do you choose?"