New.

Sebastian realized it immediately, even before she stepped into his room. New ones always behaved differently. They tried to appear confident, but their movements had something rehearsed, forced. As if they were trying to convince themselves they were in control.

He heard her talking to the guard outside the door. Her voice was calm, steady. But he caught the split-second pause before she introduced herself. The barely noticeable inhale before speaking.

She was nervous.

The door opened.

She stepped inside, and he saw her for the first time. Young, but not naive. There was a tense curiosity in her eyes. A folder in her hands—his file.

Sebastian sat on the bed, relaxed, a sly smile playing on his lips.

— Doctor, — he drawled, stretching the word as if tasting it. — Did you lose a bet, or did you voluntarily decide to work with psychos?

She didn’t react, just walked over to the chair across from him and sat down. Calmly opened the folder.

— Sebastian Volter, — she read aloud. — 33 years old. Diagnosis…

— Oh, let’s not start with something depressing, doctor, — he tilted his head slightly, watching her with lazy curiosity. — Why don’t you tell me about yourself instead? Are you married? Any kids? A cat, maybe? A dog? I should at least know what we’ll be talking about during our long, dark evenings together.

She looked up at him.

— You like to control the conversation, don’t you?

Sebastian smirked.

— Maybe. But isn’t that the most interesting part—who will outplay whom?

She didn’t answer. Just watched him.

And he watched her back.

And suddenly, he realized—this meeting would not be like the others.