Page 72 of Deadly Force

Caleb’s version of boyfriend mode, I guess.

He leans in and whispers in my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “You’re here to ask a few questions. Check in with me on the dot, or I come looking.”

I swallow as rising dread starts to build inside me. Still, I nod. More to placate him than anything.

Pushing through the center's frosted front door, I step inside. At the check-in desk, the receptionist greets us with a voice like a smile that's been used too many times. Mid-forties, tired eyes, scrubs with cartoon cats.

What’s most alarming is that she’s sitting behind bulletproof glass and security cameras are in every corner.

"Hi there. Do you have an appointment?"

"Yes. Amanda Keller."

"Great, hon. Just a few forms to fill out."

Trying not to show how nervous I am, I finish the paperwork and hand it back, paranoia seizing me as the receptionist's eyes linger on my face just a moment too long.

I barely have time to sit before a nurse appears from the back hallway. Younger, scrubs in cheerful blue.

"Amanda?"

I rise, my legs steadier than I expected.

Caleb does too. "Want me to come?"

I shake my head, offering a tight smile that probably doesn't reach my eyes. "I'm good."

His eyes meet mine for one heartbeat too long. A silent warning.

With a nod, I leave him and follow the nurse down the hallway.

She opens the door to a room drowning in pastel, lavender walls that probably tested well in focus groups, white baseboards without a scuff mark. I take the chair beneath a framed print that readsYou Are Safe Herein cursive trying too hard to convince me. The artificial lavender can't quite mask the industrial bleach underneath, sharp and clinical despite all the soft lighting.

The door opens after exactly three minutes, and the counselor walks in with practiced efficiency.

"Hi, Amanda. I'm Tara. Just going to walk you through a few things today."

She’s young, maybe mid-twenties. Soft-voiced with the kind of careful modulation they teach in sensitivity training. Scrubs with rainbows that make my skin crawl. She doesn’t look like someone who knows what this place really is.

Or maybe she’s just gotten good at pretending.

She settles into the chair across from me with a tablet. No clipboard, no paper trail, no physicalnotes. Just a slick screen and a smile polished down to muscle memory.

"Can you confirm your last period for me?"

"April tenth."

"Any known health conditions?"

"No."

"First pregnancy?"

I nod.

"Do you feel emotionally supported right now?"

Emotionally supported? I glance at the wall behind her. Lavender paint, inspirational poster, another slogan in cursive font:Know Your Rights.