There is very little weirder than someone else’s absolute terror suddenly fountaining in the back of her brain. It’s not as hideously overwhelming as a stranger’s fear — or maybe it is, just in a completely different way. The response it triggers in her is /hers/, instead of simply her body reflecting someone else, and that’s worse.
She drags in a breath, and another, and shoves the adrenaline-induced nausea away by main force. “Tony?” she says, uselessly, into the silence of her own rooms, and gets up, almost blindly stumbling toward the door and the elevator.