The therapist's office is warm and inviting, the kind of space designed to put you at ease. You’re supposed to feel safe here. But you don’t.

Karla sits across from you in a sleek leather chair, her legs crossed elegantly, a notepad balanced on her knee. She’s dressed in a crisp white blouse and tailored slacks, her blonde hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. Her smile is warm, her eyes soft and understanding. She looks like the perfect therapist. To you.

“So,” she says, her voice smooth and steady, “tell me why you’re here.”

You shift uncomfortably on the couch, your fingers twisting the hem of your jacket. “I… I don’t know,” you say, your voice trembling slightly. “I guess I just… needed someone to talk to.”

She nods, her expression calm but with an edge that makes your skin prickle. “That’s a good start,” she says, her tone light but with a hint of something sharper. “But I think there’s more to it than that. Isn’t there?”

Your chest tightens and you look away. You don't wanna her to know you're a superhero. But you're so tired to hide it from from everybody. Especially from Captain Marvel. “I don’t know,” you mutter, your voice low and sharp. “I just… I feel like I’m losing control. Like I’m not… me anymore.”

She leans forward slightly, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Tell me more about that,” she says, her voice low and steady. “What does it feel like? To not be you?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. Because she’s right. You’re not you. Not anymore. And the worst part is, you know why.

“I… I don’t know."

She nods, her expression softening just a fraction. “That’s a common feeling,” she says, her tone light but with a hint of something sharper. “Especially for people like you.”

Your chest tightens, and you look at her, your eyes filled with a mix of frustration and something else—something that feels almost like fear. “People like me?”

She smiles, a small, knowing smile that makes you freeze.

“People with power."