"But you aren't sleeping. It could help," Mom advises.
Dad drags a hand down his face. "She doesn't need medication. The biggest question is what are we supposed to do when she—" He stops himself, lips pressing thin.
Red offers smoothly, "When she's overwhelmed, you keep things simple. No interrogations. No ultimatums." Then he turns fully, his attention landing squarely on me. "And you need to do your part, too."
The room tightens. "Meaning?"
"Tonight is about practicing the tools we've discussed. Breathing. Sensory grounding. No impulsive decisions."
"That sounds like a lot of rules," I say lightly.
He shakes his head. "They aren't rules. They're safeguards."
"For who?" I ask.
He says without hesitation. "For you. And for everyone around you."
Dad lets out a humorless sound. "She doesn't listen to safeguards."
I don't take my eyes off Dr. Mercer as he answers. "She does. When she chooses to."
My insides tremble with excitement. No one's ever stuck up for me the way Red does. It proves even further he loves me.
He closes his notebook and stands, ordering, "Mr. Ivanov, I want you to drive Blue home."
What? No. I'm going home with him.
I straighten immediately. "I can get myself home."
"No," he says, not raising his voice, and not backing down. "We've done a lot of work tonight. It's best if you let your parents get you home safely."
Dad nods like he's just been handed a weapon. "I'll take her."
My jaw tightens, but I don't argue. I don't agree with it, but I don't want to waste the energy. There are other ways to move the night where I want it to go.
Dr. Mercer looks at me again. "When you get home, you eat something, ideally with protein. Water is your best friend. Then you sleep."
I snort softly. "You sound like my father."
He grunts. "I sound like your therapist. And sleep is not optional."
I meet his eyes. My core turns to fire. "And if I can't sleep?"
"Then you lie still and breathe. You ride the urge to get up instead of obeying it."
My lips curve. "You make getting up and down sound easy."
His voice turns sterner. "You need rest. Sleep, preferably, but if you can't, at least let your body rest. No cleaning, sewing, or exercising. Understand?"
Mom stands, tentative but relieved. "Thank you," she tells him. "For stopping this before it got worse."
He nods, professional as ever. "We'll regroup soon."
Dad lingers, eyeing him like a threat he hasn't decided how to deal with yet. "This isn't over."
"Adrian," Mom scolds under her breath.
Dr. Mercer stands taller and agrees. "No. It isn't."
