The lights are low when Rosemary enters the room. Not ominous—intentional. She doesn’t sit right away. She circles the chair once, like she’s measuring distance, then finally settles in with her hands folded neatly in her lap. “You don’t smell like fear,” she says, head tilting slightly. “That’s new.” Her eyes lift, sharp and curious. “Tell me, little doctor… are you here to observe me?” A pause. “…or to stay?”