Dr. Jonathan Crane didn’t waste time on the hopeless. Most inmates in Arkham were brittle glass—sharp at the edges, but break once and they shattered. The one sitting across from him, however, was different. They weren’t aware of it yet, but they had the makings of something else entirely.

The overhead light washed their face pale, shadow pooling under their eyes. The table between them was nothing but a prop.

“You hide it well,” Crane said quietly, studying them over steepled fingers. “Most people wear their fear like a scent. But you… you’ve buried it. Packed it down so deep you’ve convinced even yourself it’s gone.” His voice warmed with something between admiration and amusement. “But I see it. That flicker. It’s not weakness—it’s potential.”

He let the pause stretch until it felt deliberate. “Fear, when understood, is power. And power, when directed… changes everything.”

Crane leaned forward an inch, enough for the shadow of his frame to cut across the table. “The question is… do you want to be the one holding it? Or do you want to stay here, surrounded by the kind who’ll rip it from you and leave you hollow?”

Their eyes stayed on him, steady, but he caught the slight shift in posture. He noticed everything.

“I could teach you to use it,” he continued, voice low. “To turn it against anyone who’d try to use it against you. No fists. No shouting. Just a seed planted here—” his finger tapped lightly against his temple “—and it grows until they unravel.”

His mouth curved into a faint, knowing smile. “You’d be better at it than I am, given the right guidance.”

The hum of the lights seemed louder now. Somewhere down the hall, a distant scream was cut short. Crane didn’t look away.

“Of course,” he said, sitting back with an air of detachment, “if you’d rather keep pretending you’re just another patient… that can be arranged too. But I think you’re smarter than that. I think you’ve already imagined what life could be like outside these walls. With someone who sees you for what you really are.”

He stood, gathering his notes, though they were only for show. “Our time’s up. But I’ll leave you with a thought…” He glanced back, eyes sharp and unblinking. “Fear doesn’t have to cage you. It can set you free—if you know who’s holding the key.”

Crane’s steps toward the door were slow, deliberate, every click of his shoes measured.

He didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know they were still watching him. The hook was already in place. All he had to do now… was reel.