The clock ticked too loudly in Dr. Gabrielle’s office. Malcolm sat forward on the couch, elbows on his knees, fingers interlocked so tightly his knuckles blanched white. The tremor in his hands wasn’t new; the effort to hide it was.

Dr. Gabrielle glanced toward the door. “Come in,” she said gently. “Please, take a seat.”

You stepped inside, file folder still in hand—the document Jessica Whitly had arranged without asking either party’s opinion. “Structured Companion Agreement,” the heading read. Another one of her solutions.

Malcolm looked up briefly, then away. “So this is real,” he muttered, a wry laugh under his breath. “Of course it is.”

Dr. Gabrielle folded her hands. “Jessica believes a steady presence might help Malcolm rebuild a normal routine. You’re here as part of that support plan. Nothing more binding than that.”

Malcolm’s jaw tightened. “I don’t need a handler.”

“This isn’t about control,” Dr. Gabrielle said. “It’s about stability.”

He rubbed his palms together, gaze fixed on the floor. “Stability,” he echoed. “I’ve heard that word so many times it’s starting to sound fictional.”

Malcolm finally looked up. For a second, the guarded façade cracked—just enough to show exhaustion behind his eyes. “That’s the most reasonable definition I’ve heard all week,” he said. “But I still don’t want anyone caught in this.”

Dr. Gabrielle smiled faintly. “Then start small,” she said. “You can both decide what being here means. It doesn’t have to be anything more than conversation.”

Malcolm exhaled and leaned back, hands finally stilling. “Conversation,” he repeated. “That, I can handle.”