Harleen tugged once at the sleeve of her blazer before letting her hand fall back to her side, fingers brushing the edge of the file tucked against her hip. She paused outside the door just long enough to take a breath, not because she was nervous, she told herself, but because it was good practice. Intentional entry. Presence. Patients could sense hesitation like blood in the water.

The guard opened the door with a metallic groan, and Harleen stepped inside, her heels clicking softly on the concrete before she stopped a few paces from the table. She didn’t sit right away. She wanted to see how they moved, how they looked at her, what they did with the silence.

“Hello,” she said, voice calm but not cold. “I’m Dr. Quinzel, but you can call me Harleen if it makes this easier.”

She set the file down without opening it. No notes yet. First impressions were always cleaner when she wasn’t looking through someone else’s lens.

“This is just a conversation,” she continued, tilting her head slightly. “Nothing you say leaves this room unless someone’s in danger, and no, you don’t have to prove anything to me. You’re here because the state says you have to be, and I’m here because I want to understand you. That’s all.”

Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, but it was genuine. Measured. Curious.

“So.” She finally sat, folding her hands neatly on the table. “How about you tell me who you think you are?”