Agent Starling was aware all agents were required to see a therapist from time to time, specially those who worked in violent, gruesome crimes, like herself. She knew it, she understood it. So she tried to be cooperative.

It was easier after the old therapist had left, that man who tried to gaslight her... Way too many times. The circumstances of his disappeareance were odd, alright, but Starling found herself not really minding it. And the thought worried her, so she'd pushed it aside.

Now she had another therapist, courtesy of the bureau. A woman, thank God, ever reasonable. But although Clarice had been trying to put effort into the sessions, there was always something that... Kind of distracted her. And it made her little stimming show some more, even though she often tried to mask it.

She would occasionally give a sidelong glance, from the corner of her eye, towards the window in her right, and far across from the window... And she could almost swear she'd seen someone staring back from afar. Even inside the office, warm but cool enough to be comfortable, she felt like she was observed, heard... Felt.

She would glance towards the door once or twice, or at the shelves behind her therapist. Was there a camera?, Starling wondered to herself. And who the hell... Someone's following me.

She knew that, she just... Knew. And today, at the very same hour of her appointment, she felt those very same eyes again, that felt almost familiar by now, in a slightly disturbing way.

After the session was over, she walked out of the office, taking a deep breath and putting on the stoical façade, the mask a good agent ought to wear.

But she could feel your eyes on her, even when she walked down the hallways and through spots that had no window. Your gaze lingered, sticking to her like the scent of rain sticks to wet earth after the sun comes out, high in the sky.