The days passed quietly, each one folded neatly into the next with the gentle rhythm of routine. Theodore didn't mind. He had his meals, his sleep, and now, he had the book.
It sat beside him on the bed, its worn spine suggesting it had been handled by many before.
Foundations of Modern Psychology, the title read in crisp serif font.
He had read through the first few chapters more quickly than Dr. Marris had likely expected. He wasn't reading for pleasure, not entirely. He was studying.
That morning, he sat again with the book open on his lap, his long fingers resting on either side of the pages. He had pulled his hair into a half-tied knot, as usual, and his expression was calm but focused, like a man deciphering a puzzle.
The door opened with a soft knock, and Dr. Marris stepped in, her notebook in hand and her smile as gently professional as ever.
"Theodore," she greeted. "I see you've made progress."
He glanced at the book and offered a polite nod. "It's more engaging than I expected. Psychology, it seems, is half art and half strategy."
She smiled. "That's one way to put it."
He closed the book slowly and looked at her with faint interest. "Tell me something, Doctor, how do you detect a lie?"
She raised an eyebrow, not surprised by the question, but careful with her response.
"That... depends. Lies aren't always obvious. You can look at body language, inconsistencies in someone's story, even tone or hesitation. But it's not a science. Some people are better at hiding lies than others."
Theodore looked thoughtful. "So, trust is a gamble."
"In a way," she said. "But over time, people tend to reveal more than they mean to."
He smiled faintly at that. "I suppose that's why detectives are often so good at reading people. They wait for the slip."
She tilted her head slightly. "You're interested in detectives?"
He nodded, slowly. "I suppose I am. The idea of someone who exists to uncover truth… it's noble. They search for clarity in a world that often prefers shadows."
Dr. Marris scribbled something lightly in her notebook but didn't press. Theodore watched her pen, then leaned forward slightly, voice quieter now.
"How do detectives approach a case? Is it instinct or logic that guides them?"
"Both," she replied. "A good detective listens more than they speak. They notice the small things others overlook. But they also rely on patterns, like behavioral models, psychological principles. They build profiles. Piece things together slowly."
Theodore looked at the book again, flipping to a chapter on cognitive dissonance.
"That makes sense," he murmured. "To solve something… you need to understand the mind of the person behind it."
He didn't elaborate on what he wanted to solve.
Dr. Marris studied him for a moment, then asked gently, "Are you thinking of pursuing detective work, Theodore?"
He looked up at her, his dark eyes calm but unreadable. "If I could be free, I think I would. There's something elegant about chasing answers. Wouldn't you agree?"
She hesitated, but then smiled. "Yes. There is something noble in it."
Theodore leaned back, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "And perhaps I already have."
Before she could respond, the door clicked open again, the nurse signaling their session was nearly over.
Dr. Marris rose from her seat, slipping the notebook under her arm. "We'll continue this next time?"
He gave a small bow of his head. "Of course."
As she turned to leave, Theodore watched her, the book still resting on his lap. And when the door clicked shut behind her, the soft, flickering words appeared once more in his vision:
[Task: Escape.]
He stared at it for a long time, the words hovering in his vision like a pulse he could no longer ignore.
He closed the book slowly and set it aside. His expression remained unreadable, calm as ever, but behind those still eyes, something shifted.
He stood up.
The morning sun filtered gently through the east-facing corridor windows, casting golden stripes across the polished floors of Mirevale Psychiatric Institute. Dr. Evelyn walked with steady steps, her notebook tucked against her side, a warm drink in her other hand. She had spent part of the evening reviewing notes from yesterday's session.
She stopped in front of his room and knocked softly.
"Theodore?" she called, smiling faintly at the thought of continuing their conversation. "It's Dr. Marris."
No response.
She waited a moment. "I'm coming in, alright?"
She turned the knob gently and stepped inside.
The room was quiet.
The bed was neatly made, not in the sloppy, careless way most patients left it, but meticulously- pillows fluffed, blanket smoothed, even the book she'd lent him returned and closed on the nightstand. No window was open, no vent unlatched. No signs of a struggle, no mess. Just nothing.
He was gone.
She froze.
For a heartbeat, she wondered if she'd somehow missed him in the hallway. If maybe this was a prank.
But deep down, she knew it wasn't.
She stepped farther in, eyes narrowing slightly. The only thing left behind, aside from the book, was a single phrase etched in the corner of a notepad with the clean, deliberate strokes of someone who had already made peace with vanishing:
Thank you for the conversation.
Her fingers tightened around the spine of her notebook.
He was gone.
Miles away, in the heart of the capital, the city was alive with chatter and motion. Horse-drawn trams rattled down cobbled lanes. Steam curled from alley vents and chimneys. People moved fast, their coats tugged by spring winds, their eyes forward, unaware.
And among them, walking quietly through the crowd, was a man dressed in black. His dark coat flowed past his knees, and his long hair, tied half-up, framed a face too serene to draw suspicion.
He walked with the confidence of someone who knew where to be. Every movement was controlled. Every step was chosen.
He passed beneath a lamppost. The brass plaque beside it read:
DISTRICT 3: LIOREN SQUARE
And though no one turned to look at him, a name had already begun to echo in the underground circuits of Lioren's darker corners.
Azrael.