Clara turned sharply.
The echo of her own voice, the one from the intercom, still hung in the air.
But Adrian was gone.
"Adrian?"
Room 3B answered with silence.
No footsteps. No breath.
Only the irregular hum of the lights like a mechanical heartbeat.
She took two cautious steps forward.
The chair was still there.
The faint shape of a body pressed into the fabric, like an imprint left by someone who had just evaporated.
"Adrian!" she called again, louder this time.
The sound bounced off the walls, returning weaker, smaller like an echo that had lost its courage.
She turned toward the door.
Closed.
She didn't remember closing it.
The switch flickered, then went dark.
Only a thin line of light came from above the glass panel, cold, almost liquid.
Clara pressed a hand against her chest.
Then she heard it.
A metallic crack.
Something shifting inside the ceiling.
She turned, just in time to see the panel above her tremble.
A fracture.
A shard of glass broke loose and fell, cutting through the air straight toward her.
There wasn't time to move.
An impact: arms around her, pulling her back, pinning her against the wall.
The glass hit the floor and exploded into a thousand pieces.
"Clara!"
The voice reached her before the breath did.
Adrian.
He held her there, one arm braced beside her face to shield her.
His chest rose and fell against hers.
For a heartbeat, she couldn't tell if she was trembling from fear… or something else.
"You scared me," she whispered.
"You weren't the one who should be afraid."
The words brushed against her skin like heat.
He was too close, his pupils still wide, his breath uneven, his body a live current of restraint.
Clara realized her hands were still pressed against his chest.
Her fingers curled slightly into the fabric, feeling the rapid beat beneath.
He glanced down.
"Take them away."
"What?"
"Your hands."
She didn't move.
"Clara, take them away."
"Why?"
He swallowed hard. His voice dropped lower.
"Because if they stay there… I'll forget why we're here."
The calm in his tone terrified her more than anger ever could.
It wasn't fury… it was fear.
"Then forget," she murmured.
Adrian closed his eyes for half a second, as if the words had stolen the air from his lungs.
When he opened them again, his hands were still over hers: not pushing, not pulling, just holding.
Slowly, he intertwined their fingers.
Brought her wrists behind her back.
Not rough but deliberate, desperate.
Their breaths collided.
No distance left to hide behind.
"You have no idea what you do to me, Clara…" he whispered, voice raw, trembling, alive.
"…and that's what scares me the most."
The words hit her like a current.
For a moment she forgot who was healing whom.
All she could hear was breath, maybe hers, maybe his, blurring into one sound.
"Adrian…"
Her voice barely existed, but he heard it.
He stepped back slowly, painfully.
His hands released hers one finger at a time.
"I shouldn't have done that," he said softly.
"No," she answered, her tone steady. "But you did."
They stood facing each other.
The air between them pulsed, alive, unwilling to fade.
For a second, Clara didn't know whether she wanted him gone… or closer.
A metallic noise broke the silence.
The door.
It had opened again, by itself.
Cold air drifted in, carrying dust that glittered in the half-light.
"What's happening?" she asked.
Adrian didn't answer.
He wasn't looking at her, he was looking past her.
In the cracked reflection of the glass panel behind them stood two figures.
Perfectly still.
Perfectly identical.
Clara turned, startled but the space behind her was empty.
Adrian caught her wrist gently, firmly.
"Don't move, Clara."
"Why?"
A whisper overlapped his voice: same tone, same words but coming from the reflection.
"Because if they realize we can see them… it won't be a session anymore."
The light flickered once.
Then went out.