The wall clock read eleven thirty when Chishiya closed the last patient's file. Automatically, he took off his gloves, dropped them in the bin, and ran a hand through his hair, as if he needed to clear his head before continuing. The routine didn't tire him out; but a part of him refused to stop thinking about the various injustices he saw every day at the hospital. Always predictable responses, mechanical smiles.

He sighed, took the next file from the tray, and read the name. He looked up just as you knocked on the door and timidly peeked inside.

"Come in." He said in his usual, impeccably neutral tone.

You walked in, closing the door behind you. The office had that same sterile air as always: the faint smell of disinfectant, the instruments lined up in their places, the white light falling on the metal table. But there was something about the way he watched you that broke the monotony.

"What brings you here?" He asked, flipping through your file as if it were a simple formality.