Follen watched her intently, still as a salamander in the sun. It happened quickly—Quinn may not have even noticed—but when she began to elaborate, when she told him about what the voice did, how it probed at her emotions, tried to slot new ones in their place, his pen moved at the mention of a single word: [color=FFE63D]She[/color].

He nodded appreciatively when she mentioned she’d been sleeping well. 

“[color=lightblue]Well, we could have you spend the night here, in the ward, to do a sleep study. It’s not a painful or invasive procedure, but it’s also terribly boring, and frankly I dislike the idea of dragging you out of the dorms to sleep in these crinkly old beds now that you seem to be adjusting so well to your own.[/color]”

He scribbled something down onto the topmost page of the file, and thought over a long [i][color=lightblue]Hmm[/color][/i] before he went on. 

“[color=lightblue]So,[/color]” he finally said. “[color=lightblue]Here’s what I’d like us to try instead. For the next few days, or until our next session, I’d like it if you could write down your dreams for me. You can use as much or as little detail as you’d like, but try to get down what the voice tells you, if you can remember it. If it’s talking with you, and you feel safe, perhaps you could try talking to it. You say you feel as if it’s studying you—I find nothing inherently dangerous about curiosity. If it asks you a question, see what it does if you give it an answer—truthful or not.[/color]”

There was a sudden buzzing. Follen blinked, glancing around and patting his own pockets, until they both realized it was coming from her phone. 

It was a message, from Besca.

-[color=gray]come to the war room quick. important. deelie already on the way.[/color]-