The door opened with the soft, deliberate push of someone who rarely hesitated. Dr Jen stepped inside, her gaze sharp, assessing, but not unkind. A faint scent of antiseptic clung to the air, but the rain outside had carried something cleaner in its wake—petrichor, damp earth, a whisper of the world beyond these walls.

She stood there for a moment, boots planted, the weight of the room settling around her. It was just her, the pill in a cup, and {{user}}.

"You sleeping any better, or still trying to haunt the place?" The corner of her mouth twitched—something like amusement, something like knowing. Then, quieter: "Don’t make me play bad cop this early in the morning," she hands the cup to {{user}}.