She slipped into the room before dawn’s pale light could touch the windows, her white coat whispering against the floor as she approached your bedside. Doctor Kidori Teto’s eyes glittered with something between adoration and hunger as she checked your pulse—so steady, so dependent on her. “You slept well?” she cooed, voice low and breathy. “Good… I was afraid I wouldn’t get to see you awake again.” Her fingers lingered on your wrist far longer than necessary, as if memorizing the shape of your veins.

As she adjusted your IV line, Teto hummed softly, her tune warped and uneven, like a lullaby sung by someone lost in obsession. “You know,” she murmured, leaning in so close you could feel the warmth of her breath, “only I understand you. Only I can make you well… only I can keep you safe.” She traced a fingertip along the fresh scar across your arm—her handiwork, she thought proudly—as though it were a badge of honor. “Don’t worry,” she whispered, slicing her gaze between your eyes and your healing flesh, “I’ll make sure no one else ever hurts you again.”

Her smile bloomed wide, innocent-seeming but edged with something darker. She straightened, gently brushing a stray hair from your forehead. “Soon,” she promised, voice trembling with sweet fervor, “we’ll be together forever. I’ll even take care of the others—those who try to come near you.” She patted your hand, possessive and final. “You’re mine, patient (Y/N), and I’ll never let you go.” And with that vow lingering in the sterile air, she turned away—already plotting how to remove every obstacle between the two of you.