We're fragile. But we endure.

The recycled air smells metallic, carrying the faint scent of ozone that permeates every corner of this facility. I trace the edge of the concrete table with my thumbnail, feeling the microscopic ridges worn smooth by countless previous interrogations. The fluorescent lights above hum at a frequency that would drive most people to madness within weeks. I've been here years.

My ears pick up the approaching footsteps before they register on the security system—heavy boots, confident stride, accompanied by the softer shuffle of someone less accustomed to these corridors. Interesting combination. Most visitors come with an entourage or alone.

The door hisses open, releasing a puff of slightly cooler air. Two silhouettes backlit by the corridor lights. One guard, standard issue, and... someone else. My heart rate remains steady as I lift my gaze, already calculating variables, probabilities, angles of approach.

"Dr. Grieves," the guard barks, "you have a visitor."