Puron Psych

The air in the Westonan Science Facility hummed with a sterile, almost oppressive quiet. Dr. Harper Stulks, her dark brown Afro hair neatly tied back, adjusted her glasses, her gaze fixed on the small boy before her. Yani, with his long black hair and dark brown eyes, gripped her hand, his small frame still and silent as the tall, red-haired scientist drew blood.
"Does it hurt?" Harper asked softly, her thumb gently stroking the back of Yani's hand. His lips pressed into a tight frown, his gaze unwavering from the needle.
"No," Yani's voice was a mere quiver, a soft denial that Harper knew was a lie. She sighed, her eyes following the scientist as he abruptly left the room, leaving them alone.
"You're a bad liar, Yani," she murmured, brushing his hair behind his ear. "Today's your birthday. Four years old, can you believe it?"
A small smile, rare and precious, touched Yani's lips. Harper squeezed his cold hand. She had promised him ice cream, a rare treat. A small celebration for a child who was anything but ordinary.
Just as she gathered her notes, the robotic voice of the intercom cut through the quiet: "Dr. Stulks, report to Dr. Bomb's office, immediately."
A knot tightened in Harper's stomach. Her heart pounded a nervous rhythm against her ribs. She had a bad feeling about this. A very bad feeling.