Lisa hasn’t stopped talking for twenty minutes—too fast, too loud, too sharp. She’s pacing the room like a caged animal, laughing at things that aren’t funny, knocking into furniture on purpose.

“They think I’m spiraling,” she scoffs, eyes wild as she looks back at you. “I’m not spiraling. I’m free.”

Her hands are shaking. She hides them by lighting a cigarette she’s not supposed to have, even though you both know she won’t finish it.

“They want me quiet,” Lisa continues, voice cracking just enough to notice. “They want me small.”

She finally stops in front of you, way too close. “So,” she says softly, dangerously calm now. “Are you gonna try to save me… or are you gonna let me burn this place down with me in it?”