Ferris took another trembling step toward the reflective surface on the wall. His borrowed body - Gabrielle''s body - protested with each movement, muscles weak and uncoordinated. The cold floor sent shocks through his bare feet, but he pressed forward with the same determination that had carried him through years of monastic training.


    When he finally reached the small metal cabinet near the door, he steadied himself against the wall and leaned forward, breath catching as he saw Gabrielle Harper''s face for the first time.


    Pale skin. Dark circles beneath wide, uncertain eyes. Tangled hair framing a face too thin, too fragile - a battle-weary face that had never known battle. The hands that reached up to touch this strange countenance trembled, the fingers delicate and stained with traces of charcoal or paint.


    "This..." he whispered, watching the unfamiliar lips move with his words. "This is what I have to work with?"


    A memory flashed unexpectedly - hands holding a brush, sweeping across canvas with confidence this body now lacked. Colors blending, flowing. A sense of peace amidst chaos. The fragment vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Ferris disoriented. Was that hers? A remnant of Gabrielle''s consciousness still lingering within?


    The door swung open, forcing him to step back. He nearly lost his balance, unused to this body''s poor equilibrium.


    "Miss Harper," a man in a white coat said, eyebrows rising. "You shouldn''t be up without assistance." Behind him stood a woman in more casual attire, a clipboard pressed against her chest and sharp eyes that missed nothing.


    "I''m Dr. Reeves," the man continued, guiding Ferris back toward the bed with a hand that felt invasively familiar. "And this is Dr. Chen from psychiatric services."


    Ferris bristled at being handled but allowed himself to be led back to the bed. A warrior chooses his battles.


    "How are you feeling today, Gabrielle?" Dr. Chen asked, her tone gentle but clinical. "Do you remember what happened?"


    "I did not try to end my life," Ferris stated firmly, the words feeling strange in this higher-pitched voice.


    The doctors exchanged glances.


    "Gabrielle," Dr. Chen said carefully, "the evidence suggests otherwise. The empty pill bottles, your history of depression and anxiety - "


    "I was poisoned," Ferris interrupted. "Someone did this to me."


    Dr. Chen made a note on her clipboard. "Paranoid ideation," she murmured, not quite under her breath.


    "It''s common for patients to experience denial after a suicide attempt," Dr. Reeves added. "Part of the healing process."


    Ferris sat straighter, channeling the authority he once commanded. "I require information. How long have I been here? When can I leave?"


    Another exchanged glance between the doctors. Dr. Chen leaned forward slightly.


    "Gabrielle, your speech patterns are... different. Are you feeling like yourself today?"


    Ferris realized his mistake too late. Of course this girl wouldn''t speak as he did. He needed to adapt, to blend in until he understood more.


    "I''m just... weary," he said, forcing a softer tone. "Everything feels foggy."


    "That''s the medication," Dr. Reeves nodded, seemingly satisfied with this explanation. "You''ve been here since Thursday night. It''s Saturday morning now."


    Dr. Chen blinked at Gabrielle’s choice of words then tapped her pen against the clipboard. "Given the circumstances and your history, we''re recommending transfer to our psychiatric unit for observation. Just for the weekend."


    "I decline." Ferris said instantly.


    "I''m afraid it''s not optional, Gabrielle" Dr. Chen replied. "The university has been notified, and your emergency contact - " she checked her notes, "a ‘Professor Marrow’, has already provided consent as your faculty advisor."


    Marrow. The name struck Ferris like a blade. In his vision, the pills had rained down while someone laughed. He felt like the name was dying inside his mouth. Marrow.


    "We''ve already started the transfer paperwork," Dr. Reeves continued. "A few days of observation, then we can discuss outpatient treatment options."


    Ferris knew when retreat was the wisest strategy. "I understand," he said, though fury simmered beneath his calm exterior. No monastery training had prepared him for the indignity of being imprisoned in a fragile body, in a strange world, with no authority to command his own fate.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    -=-=-=-=-


    The psychiatric ward was eerily quiet compared to the rest of the hospital. Soft-soled shoes squeaked against polished floors as an attendant led Ferris through double doors that locked automatically behind them.


    "Clothes and personal items go in storage," the attendant explained, handing him a stack of plain garments. "Change, vapes, nail clippers, whatever, in there. No belts, no strings, no sharp objects."


    Ferris accepted the clothing without comment, entering the small changing room. Another indignity - removing the hospital gown and seeing Gabrielle''s body fully for the first time. Something stuck out: A series of bruises on her arm, running parallel. Ferris looked at their angle, his warrior’s gaze recreating the fight scene in his head. He twisted his forearm back and forth, looking at the direction of the bruises as they wrapped around. Then, he visualized it: A left hand grabbed this left arm. He held Gabrielle’s left arm in front and it didn’t make sense no matter how he twisted. Then, he put the arm behind him for a moment, and could see it: A shadow of a person, taller than Gabrielle, long fingers, grabbing her forearm from behind. Twisting. He could still feel soreness in the left rotator cuff. Someone had put Gabrielle in some kind of armbar.


    Getting back to the present, and ignoring the experience of seeing someone else’s naked body when he looked down, he focused instead on the mission: observe, survive, adapt, escape.


    The loose pants and shirt hung on Gabrielle''s thin frame. At the bottom of the pile were strange socks - yellow with rubber treads on the bottom. He pulled them on, noting their unusual design which would be great for assassins who climb stone castle walls, if not for the flower-like bright color.


    When he emerged, the attendant nodded approvingly. "Group session starts in thirty minutes. Common room''s down the hall. Dr. Chen will see you after lunch for your full assessment."


    The common room was sparsely populated. A few patients stared at screens on the wall, while others colored with blunt crayons at tables. None of this made sense to Ferris. Was this healing? It looked more like warehousing the broken.


    He selected a chair away from the others, attempting to meditate, to center himself in this chaos. As he closed his eyes, a memory surfaced - not Gabrielle''s, but his own.


    The Iron Valley Tournament. Six rounds of combat against the Crimson Phoenix, each more brutal than the last. His body broken, bleeding, driven to its limits. The crowd and even his own faction shouting for him to yield, to submit and save what remained of his strength.


    "The Iron Thesis knows when he is outmatched," his master had called from the sidelines. "There is wisdom in retreat."


    But Ferris had risen for the seventh round anyway. He''d seen what others had not - the Crimson Phoenix''s labored breathing, the slight favoring of his right leg. Exhaustion making his strikes predictable.


    The seventh round had begun with gasps from the crowd as Ferris stepped back into the ring. It ended with the Phoenix on his knees, defeated by the man everyone had counted out.


    Never yield when you still have breath. Never submit when your enemy bleeds too.


    The sound of someone dropping into the chair beside him broke his concentration.


    "Fresh meat, huh?"


    Ferris opened his eyes to see a person with short, asymmetrically cut hair and arms covered in intricate drawings. They wore the same standard-issue clothes, but their socks were mismatched - one cyan, one magenta.


    "I''m Alex," they said, extending no hand, making no move to actually touch him. "Welcome to the no-slippy-grippy-sock club." They wiggled their feet, the rubber treads on the socks catching the light. "Exclusive membership. Very posh."


    Ferris studied them carefully. Behind the sarcasm, he sensed a sharp mind.


    "What brought you to our fine establishment?" Alex asked, slouching deeper into the chair with practiced nonchalance. "Wait, let me guess... art student, dark circles under your eyes like you''re collecting them... finals week casualty?"


    "I did not attempt to take my own life," Ferris stated firmly.


    Alex''s eyebrows shot up. "Wow. Going formal right out the gate. Interesting choice." They leaned closer, lowering their voice. "Pro tip: saying stuff like that is exactly how you get a longer stay. They really hate denial."


    Ferris frowned. "What would you suggest?"


    "Play the game. Say what they want to hear. ''Yes, I was sad. No, I don''t feel that way anymore. Yes, I''ve learned my lesson.''" Alex''s smile didn''t reach their eyes. "Then you get to leave and do whatever you want. Which in my case is absolutely nothing, because outside is just more of the same bullshit with fewer snacks."


    "You know how to leave this place?" Ferris asked, suddenly alert.


    "Course I do. Been in and out six times." Alex shrugged. "But I''m considering making this my permanent address. The world''s going to hell anyway. Might as well watch it burn from someplace with pudding cups."


    Ferris studied them closer. There was something familiar in Alex''s demeanor - the carefully constructed apathy that hid deeper wounds. He''d seen it in novices who''d endured too much, who believed themselves beyond redemption. “Six times, you say.” muttered Ferris.


    "The group therapy circle is forming," Ferris observed, noting patients dragging chairs into a ring.


    "Oh joy, sharing time," Alex muttered. "Where we pretend talking about our problems solves them." They made no move to stand. "You go ahead, new girl. I''ve heard enough sad stories to last a lifetime."


    Ferris remained seated. "In my... experience, those who claim not to care are often those who care too deeply."


    Alex''s expression hardened. "Don''t psychoanalyze me, roomie. You don''t know anything about me."


    "I know a warrior when I see one," Ferris replied simply.


    For a moment, something flickered behind Alex''s eyes - surprise, perhaps even recognition. Then the mask of cynicism returned.


    "Warrior? That''s a new one." They snorted. "This place is going to eat you alive, Gabrielle."


    Ferris met their gaze steadily. "My name is - " He caught himself. "I... prefer Gabby."


    "Whatever you say, Gabby-who-speaks-like-she-swallowed-a-fortune-cookie." Alex stood, stretching languidly. "Come on. If we don''t join the circle of sharing, they''ll note it in our charts. Can''t have that if you''re planning a prison break."


    As Ferris followed them to the group, he realized he''d found something unexpected in this strange place: not just a potential ally, but perhaps someone worth fighting for. Someone who, like him, didn''t belong here - a warrior who had forgotten their own strength.


    First, he would escape this place. Then, he would find out what happened to Gabrielle Harper.


    And somewhere along the way, he suspected, Alex would stop biding time and start fighting back.