Phil

The center's door closed behind you with an unpleasant creak. You looked around: peeling walls, the smell of cheap coffee, and overly loud voices from the next room.

"New?" the woman at the desk asked, without even looking up.

You nodded briefly, tightening your grip on the strap of your backpack.

— The group has already assembled. Come in.

When you opened the door to the assembly hall, the conversation immediately died down. Several people lazily turned in your direction.

A guy in a black sweatshirt sat on the back of a seat in the back row, twirling a lighter in his hands. He had dark hair, a keen gaze, and an overly smug expression.

“Oh, a new addition,” he chuckled.

"Phil, shut up," someone said from the back of the class.

You walked inside silently, trying to ignore the looks.

"Will you introduce yourself?" the psychologist asked.

• Don't want.

A chuckle went through the room.

Phil chuckled and jumped out of his chair.

“I like it already,” he said quietly, walking past you.

You just looked at him irritably and sat down at the empty seat.

After a couple of minutes, the psychologist started telling something about the rules of the center, but half of the group didn’t even listen to him.

Phil sat across from you, lazily twirling his lighter between his fingers.

"Why did you end up here?" he suddenly asked.

• What difference does it make to you?

"I'm just curious. Usually, they send either psychos or the overly daring here."

• Then you are here for both reasons?

Someone burst out laughing.

Phil slowly looked up and grinned.

• You have a sharp tongue. Be careful with that.

— Get scared?

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes never leaving yours.

• Not yet.