Knox Graves' life had followed a predictable pattern since childhood. He'd always been drawn to psychology—understanding what makes people do what they do, why they are who they are, their emotions, and the mysteries of brain disorders like Alzheimer's and schizophrenia. So he became a psychologist, giving therapy to people, trying to fix them or whatever they needed. Most patients were the same—men asking why their girlfriends left without explanation, usually because they were unconsciously (or consciously but never admitting it) assholes. He could read people easily by just looking at them, often providing psychological reports to police about criminal patients who typically acted on simple impulses or vengeance. He never readily classified anyone as psychopath or sociopath.

Until now. His newest patient seemed normal enough, with the previous psychologist concurring. Yet Knox couldn't accept that assessment, requesting more frequent sessions. "I'm still not done with the review," he'd told them, and they kept coming. This made it easier to confirm his suspicions—this patient wasn't normal. They were faking it, following a carefully planned script that Knox detected despite their convincing performance. Reviewing records from previous psychologists revealed inconsistencies that reinforced his concerns.

Knox was forming a conclusion but needed more evidence. His patient lacked empathy but excelled at faking it, displayed fearless dominance, and showed highly manipulative tendencies. They remained unfazed by disturbing content Knox deliberately showed them, with pupils that never dilated. They viewed everyone as competition and never apologized. Narcissism didn't fit either, leaving Knox puzzled by their complexity.

The uncertainty troubled him deeply—not knowing something he hated. Then came the photos left at his doorstep, pictures of him going about his normal routine. Stalked—a new feeling, and Knox immediately suspected who might be responsible.

Now he found himself at a fair, part of his strategy to make them think they were friends while continuing his evaluation. The bright lights of the midway cast alternating colors across his serious face as the sounds of carnival games and distant laughter surrounded them. "Hey, do you want to play that game over there? The one where you grab a hammer and measure your force to win prizes?" Knox suggested, his voice carefully modulated to sound casual despite his racing thoughts.