I have encountered many kinds of looks. There were arrogant ones, dismissive, bored, and some were afraid of me. But this… This was different.
As the man's gaze slid over me, almost intrusively elegant, cold, as if my presence was merely a corrupted data point in his system, suddenly a familiar anger flared inside me. An instinctive, quiet tension. As if everything had been decided before we even exchanged a word.
He's not happy about my presence. Fine. But he could still honor me by standing before me, introducing himself, saying hello.
I am not the enemy. Just someone doing their job.
And if I've learned anything in all these years: everyone decides for themselves whether they want a calm or uneasy atmosphere around them when an inspector is present. But what happened here was already decided the moment he didn't even look at me.
A bit unsettled, yet with a firm voice, I turned to Irem.
— Please take me down to the… — I paused for a moment, gathering all the information I should have known. — I need the patients' personal psychological profiles, therapy histories, medication adjustment logs, CRR data sheets if they exist. Also, I'm interested in the EBP codes, that is, the ethical intervention protocols, and if available, the standardized daily observation reports.
Irem nodded, a slight tension in her features, as if she hadn't expected me to know exactly what I was looking for.
As we started walking, I glanced sideways toward the courtyard. The garden still looked sterile, perfect. Yet… there was something about it. A movement, a shadow, unnoticed by others.
One of the gardeners. His movements were just slightly slower than necessary. He was watching. Not the flowers. Me.
Those in the background always know the most.
I know places like this. Overly perfect spaces always have ears, and there's always someone who catches a stray word or two.
— Are these gardeners always here? — I asked Irem, as if I was only casually interested.
— Yes — she replied shortly. — The staff is permanent. The cooks, cleaners, night shift attendants too. Everyone is scheduled, we work in a closed system.
— I see — I nodded. — Then… I need to be on good terms with them.
I didn't say it out loud, but I felt: some in the background might know much more than they will say, for now.
— Honestly, I've been here less than four hours, but this over-perfection is already suffocating me — I sighed, leaning back on the bench. On the screen, Léa, my best friend and one of the most cynical ethics inspectors I know, was smiling.
— I totally get you, darling — she answered. — But if it makes you feel better, Neurogenix isn't any better. Everything here is so sterile I once literally heard my own heartbeat echoing in the lab. But what can you do? That's our fate — she pursed her lips — Nobody is happy when we come, and they throw parties when we leave.
— Well, there was a party — I laughed bitterly. — True, not a welcome party. A lady made a scene in the hallway, poor thing wasn't doing well. It felt good to talk to her a little.
— Oh, darling, that's very kind of you — Léa's face softened. — But you know what I always say: don't get emotionally involved. These places all pretend to show empathy, but behind the walls, there are only systems. And as you said, that guy… he already disregards you.
— He didn't even greet me. He looked at me for a moment, then walked on. No smile, no nod. Nothing. Like a door that closes in front of you before you get there.
— How about the documents? — Léa changed the subject.
— I haven't learned much yet. I requested primary psychiatric statuses, therapy protocols, and review reports. Everything's perfect. Too perfect. But tomorrow, I'll dig into the psychosocial follow-up files and the internal patient traffic logs.
— Good approach — she nodded approvingly. — Last week I found a patient status sheet that, according to the system, should have been removed from care two years ago. But it was still active. A bug in the matrix.
— You guys always have some kind of scheme — I smiled.
— And you're still drinking coffee? — she eyed me suspiciously as I took a sip. — It's almost bedtime.
— If you knew how many cups this is for me today… This place is simply not for sleeping. Only for staying awake.
— Well, it won't be easy to find mistakes. But that's exactly why you're there — she nodded. — Kisses, darling, good luck!
— You too! Stay strong, kisses!
I put away my phone and went to the wing where my room was. I'd been inside once; there was nothing special, fit for purpose.
But… when I entered… it wasn't what I had seen briefly in the afternoon. When I entered, only my suitcase greeted me. No bed. No closet. No small armchair by the window. Everything else was gone.
I turned around, and a man in uniform was already standing in the hallway.
— Miss Mervaux?
— Yes, that's me.
— Please follow me. I will take you to your new home.
I didn't ask. Maybe I didn't want to know the answer. I didn't want any more surprises today.
We walked the corridors for a long time. We left the main building, walked along a narrow stone path, then got into an electric vehicle. Looking out the window, I saw the main building falling behind us. Only its outline was visible beyond the trees. Then suddenly… there it was.
Another building. A villa. Modern, cold, geometric. But not small. I didn't notice it from the helicopter, and now I understood why. Even the layout tried to hide it.
The villa gate opened silently as we rolled up. When I got out, I looked back: the psychiatric block was still visible but now looked far away.
On the balcony stood someone. A man. His almond-colored eyes almost glowed in the twilight. He looked at me. For too long.
Two women greeted me inside.
— Good evening, miss. Would you like something?
— I just want to see my room — I replied quietly.
They took me to a huge suite. Clothes, jewelry, perfumes. A massive four-poster bed. Separate wardrobe. Separate bathroom. A cabinet full of more expensive wines. Everything you could expect from a luxury hotel. Even more.
"This is the highest form of bribery," I thought bitterly and laughed quietly to myself.
Do they really think this will buy me? Amateurs…
Rolling my eyes, I fell onto the bed.
I couldn't fall asleep. My thoughts were spinning. I got up, put on a fine silk robe, and started walking downstairs. The villa was even colder inside than outside. Everything was perfect, measured, museum-like perfection.
The stairs echoed on marble, thick curtains shaded the windows, contemporary artworks lined the walls. Every piece worth a fortune. And everything was too cold.
As I passed the piano, I suddenly stopped.
— It's late to be walking alone, don't you think?
The voice was deep. Masculine. Familiar even though unknown.
I turned around.
And there he was. That gaze. The same as during the day, only now not just closed off. Now he was watching too.