It was raining.

  Not an ordinary rain—but a silent one. The drops made no sound against the roof, no echo on the glass, and not even the wind whispered its arrival. It simply fell, indifferent and still, like a hallucination cast upon the world.

  The lounge of West Adele Asylum at night looked no different from a graveyard, with brick walls standing in for tombstones behind the worn wooden reception desk. The night-shift officer kept her head down, reading through files. The scratch of her pen against paper was the only sound in the room.

  Until the large oak door creaked open, slow and heavy.

  Footsteps, measured and steady, entered.

  A young man walked in, dressed in a neatly buttoned shirt, clean leather shoes, and a muted white coat with the sleeves precisely folded.

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  His pale blue eyes scanned the room briefly before settling on the front desk. A faint smile touched his lips. His gaze... unwavering.

  "I have an appointment," he said.

  His voice was soft—gentle, courteous—enough to make the officer pause.

  "Your name?" she asked.

  "Dr. Loc Wallace."

  He extended a document toward her with slender, unblemished fingers. The officer read each line of the file with care, her brows drawing together slightly.

  "You're... a psychiatrist?" she asked, her voice unsure, her hands tightening around the folder.

  The man only smiled again.

  "I used to be," he replied.

  Something in his tone made her freeze. She hesitated before handing the file back, uncertain if she had seen this man before or if his face was just familiar enough to disturb her.

  Still, she let him through.