The glint. The sounds. I hesitate.
And that’s all it takes.
Tap. “Patient hallucinating.”
“I didn’t— I just— There was a camera,” I say quickly. “In the vent. You can check. It’s there.”
The man’s expression doesn’t change.
“Scout,” he says, like he’s explaining something to a child. “There are no cameras in your private residence.”
Shaking my head, my skin prickles. “That’s not true.”
“Can you prove that?”
“Yes— I saw?—”
“Did you retrieve it?”
No.
“Did you record it?”
No.
“Did anyone else witness it?”
No.
Tap. “Fixed visual delusion. Iron studies and EEG. Possible candidate for ECT.”
My chest tightens. “I’m not delusional.”
The word tastes wrong in my mouth. Like something they’ve already decided belongs to me.
“Okay.” He says it with the same tone as everything. Reassuring.Dismissive.
Final.
“Have you harmed yourself recently?”
“No.”
“Your medical records indicate a self-inflicted wound on your arm.”
“I was attacked.”
“By whom?”
“A man. He—he had a needle?—”
“Oh. I see.”Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
For a second, my vision blurs. This is wrong.
“Stop writing that,” I snap. “You’re twisting what I’m saying.”
The man on my right places a hand lightly on my shoulder with a warning.
