“There’s no Cassie,” says the woman in the white coat. The faint pink frames of her glasses match the pink of her cheeks perfectly. Adam wonders why she worries about such details, particularly here.

“She goes by Cassandra now.”

She clicks her tongue, as she does whenever she thinks he was snide. Her blue eyes are unnerving, so he avoids them. The office is as meticulously clean as ever. Desktop, walls, windows… all smudge-free… naked.

“There’s no Cassandra,” she says.

He stares at the desk in front of him. A fingerprint. Should he point it out?

“Adam, you know there is no Cassandra, right?”

Would she flip out if he told her about the fingerprint? Would she scream?

“Adam?”

He thinks about her drawer of disinfectants, next to the one with his file. He imagines a sign on the drawer, pull in case of emergency.

“Adam?”

“Yeah, I know,” he whispers.

She puts a gloved hand on his shoulder, then walks out.

“He finally turning around?”

“I hope so. He won’t need to stalk someone who doesn’t exist.”