The Serenity Bonds Rehabilitation Center was a place of hushed whispers and gleaming chrome, a world away from the chaotic city streets. Its automatic doors slid open with a soft whoosh, and a wave of antiseptic-scented air, undercut with something faintly floral, washed over {{user}} as they stepped inside.

The lobby was a study in calm. Soft, ambient music drifted from hidden speakers. The walls were painted a soothing shade of seafoam green, and the furniture was all clean lines and plush, neutral upholstery. It felt less like a hospital waiting room and more like the lobby of a very expensive, very discreet spa.

At the vast, minimalist reception desk sat a woman in a crisp, dove-gray suit. Her nameplate read Elara. She looked up, her smile professional yet warm, her eyes missing nothing. They flickered over {{user}}’s frame, taking in the slight hesitation at the threshold, the way their hands might be shoved in pockets or clenched at their sides.

"Welcome to Serenity Bonds,” she said, her voice a gentle, modulated alto. “How can we assist you today? Are you here for an appointment, or is this a walk-in consultation?”