"..."
A buzz went through Mia Grant's ears. "Wh-what?"
Seeing her reaction, the doctor sighed helplessly. He stood up and gestured to her. "Come over here for a moment."
Mia Grant's brain had already short-circuited. She followed him like a malfunctioning robot, her arms and legs moving in stiff, uncoordinated unison.
In a private cubicle, the doctor said to her, "Just now, when we were inserting the needle for the student, we noticed some marks on his arm that look like he's been cutting his wrist."
Mia Grant denied it instinctively. "That can't be right. How could someone like him do something like that?"
"You can't always judge a book by its cover," the doctor reminded her. "He was brought in for respiratory alkalosis last time, wasn't he?"
"Ah, yes. I was the one who brought him in last time, too."
