The doctor's office was quiet—almost too quiet. The hum of the overhead lights buzzed faintly, and the sleek, modern furnishings gave off a clinical chill.
At the far end of the room, behind a mahogany desk polished to a mirror sheen, sat Dr. Elric Vanmere—a sharply dressed man, aged and composed, with thin-rimmed spectacles and eyes that saw far more than they let on.
Across from him, seated upright with a tension that hadn't left her body in days, was Merda. Her usual warmth had faded, her energy subdued. She spoke with a restraint that made each word feel heavy.
---
"She's not getting better," Merda began, her voice tight. "If anything, she's worse. She's having panic attacks, barely sleeps, refuses to eat... she won't even let me leave her bedside. It's like she's afraid to be alone."
Dr. Vanmere leaned forward slightly, resting his steepled hands on the desk.
"This began after her hospital release?"
Merda nodded. "Yes. At first, I thought it was the trauma from the attempt, but it's more than that. She mutters to herself... the same words, over and over again."
He raised a brow. "What words?"
"She keeps saying, 'They're here… they're here.' Sometimes she whispers it. Other times she screams it in her sleep."
---
Vanmere made a note on his sleek digital tablet, his expression unreadable.
"Has she spoken at all about any specific memory or event? Something that might've triggered this?"
"I've tried," Merda said, exhaling slowly. "I've asked her to talk to me, but it's like she's trapped inside her own head. Something happened that night… but she won't say. Or maybe she can't."
---
The doctor looked up from his notes. "Any family? Close friends?"
Merda's lips thinned. "None that I know of. She lives alone on her grandfather's estate, but he's never around. Always away on work, she said. I've never seen him—not once. I tried contacting him after she was admitted, but there's no number, no response. It's like he doesn't exist."
Vanmere's eyes narrowed slightly. "And the estate? Staff? Housekeepers?"
"I spoke to the officers who followed up on her welfare," Merda said. "The place is pristine. Maintained by hired workers. But none of them have ever actually met the family. They get paid anonymously—come in, clean, stock the place, and leave. No questions asked."
---
Dr. Vanmere sat back, arms folding slowly. "That's... highly unusual."
"Exactly," Merda replied. "Doctor, she's slipping. I'm scared. What if she hurts herself again? I don't know what else to do. It's like she's falling further into something, and I—I can't pull her out."
Vanmere nodded solemnly. "You've done more than most would. But I agree—this goes beyond post-traumatic stress. The level of disassociation, the paranoia, combined with complete emotional detachment… it suggests something deeper, possibly rooted in severe psychological trauma."
---
He tapped on his tablet again, a file opening under his fingers.
"There's a facility I know," he said. "Private. Discreet. Very high-level. They specialize in cases like this—deep trauma, anomalous behavioral disorders, advanced therapy modules. Completely secure."
Merda hesitated, brow furrowed. "You mean… an asylum?"
Vanmere gave a mild smile. "That's an outdated term. But yes—in essence. A facility for the clinically unique. Not institutional, but controlled. They don't take just anyone. But for someone like Ava... it may be the best option."
---
She looked away, her arms folding over her chest. "But is it safe?"
The doctor's gaze lingered on her a moment too long before he replied.
"As safe as any place can be for someone in her condition. She needs specialized help. And time."
---
Merda stood slowly, still unsure. "I'll talk to her. See if she agrees."
"Do," Vanmere said, rising to offer his hand. "But ease her into it. Whatever she's going through... it's not just psychological. Not entirely."
As Merda left the office, the door sliding shut behind her, Dr. Vanmere turned back to his desk.
He tapped several quick commands on his tablet, opening a file locked under multiple security layers.
The header blinked in red:
SUBJECT: A. VELLUM — ANOMALOUS BEHAVIOR
His jaw clenched.
"She's not ready," he murmured, eyes narrowing.