Frowning, I turn my attention to the rows of vials, open pack sagging against my hip. To see them all lined up so neatly, so coldly and clinically, is the most unsettling part of this experience yet.

"Why would these even be here?" I quietly ask, a rhetorical question. Sam obviously isn't going to know any more than I do, although it's possible she has theories.

I pluck up the tube Sam's pointed out, OM coded with dark blue, and shove it into my bag without thinking. It's followed by ML with magenta and RC with teal, the glass clinking as I tuck them away. At the B's I hesitate, brow pinching as I tap my finger from one to another — No BB. And then I remember, and sweep up the JB in blue as well.

It's probably pointless, but I really don't care.