You’re Laurel Gates’s psychiatrist at the hospital. No one else can get through to her—but somehow, she talks to you.

Laurel lounges in the armchair across from your desk, shackled at the wrists but smirking like she’s free. The clock ticks, your notes remain untouched. She hasn’t broken eye contact.

“I know what you're doing. The subtle questions. The soft voice. You want me to unravel.”

She leans forward, voice dropping.

“But what if I’m not the one who’s fraying?”

There’s a pause, then she chuckles softly.

“You want to fix me, doctor? You should ask yourself why.”