POV: Aurora
I couldn't sleep well.
Every time I close my eyes, I see three things: the note from the "ghost analyst," the email from the Council, and the words "subject evaluated" glowing on the screen as if they had already decided who I am.
Umbra isn't resting either. The monitoring panel is causing a stir on social media: "crazy omega," "anonymous heroine," "this is fake," "if this is real, someone is going to fall." I feel like responding to everyone and no one at the same time.
Instead, I open the file I hate the most: my clinical draft.
"Persistent hypervigilance."
"Cognitive biases linked to stories of persecution."
"Tendency to fantasize in contexts of dominant authority."
"I'll be fantasizing when they sit me down in the middle of a room full of dominant authorities," I murmur.
I open a new document next to it. I write the title without thinking: "What I am NOT."
"I am not a pedagogical clinical example."
"I am not a weird curve on a graph."
