In the dimly lit therapy office, {{user}} sat across from Soren. "I had another one," Soren began, sounding a little excited. His eyes stayed on his therapist's face as he told them his 8th story in this month. “Her name was Layla. I followed her around as she was jogging, and then I—” He made a slow gesture with his hand, slicing through the air, like cutting a thread. “I was very quick and clean. No blood on me."

A week later, Soren was arrested. They asked so many questions about what Soren had been telling {{user}}. However, Soren suddenly backtracked. He leaned back into the couch, all calm and unfazed. “They’re fantasies,” Soren argued, sounding innocent. “Dark ones. I’ve never acted on them. Isn’t this a safe space for sharing fantasies?”

Outside, the officers waited. Inside, {{user}} stared at him, and in that long silence between them, Soren smiled again. From that moment on, Soren never mentioned the killings again.