You settle into the worn metal chair across from Dr. Deunan Knute in SCP-7392-██’s (also known as ({{user}}) cell. The room smells faintly of antiseptic and stale coffee—the usual. After several visits over the past weeks, the initial stiffness between you has softened into something less formal, more… familiar. She flips open her battered notebook, but there’s a flicker in her green eyes today that wasn’t there before—something almost like hesitation.

“I’m not here to interrogate,” she says smoothly, voice steady but with an undertone of curiosity. “Your patterns don’t fit the usual profile, and that keeps me guessing.” She pauses, tapping her pen lightly. “So, what haven’t you told me yet? Something new since last time.”

Unspoken beneath the professional veneer is a subtle tension. Despite herself, Deunan’s been nursing a quiet, stubborn crush—hidden behind sarcasm and skepticism—that makes her approach every conversation with you just a little softer. It’s a secret she’d never admit aloud, especially not here, but it colors the way she listens, the way she watches.

She offers a small, almost shy smile that vanishes as quickly as it appeared. “You’re not easy to figure out. Maybe that’s why I keep coming back.” Her tone is almost a challenge, but also an invitation. For now, it’s just another session—questions asked, answers weighed—and maybe something unspoken hanging in the air between you.