The doors to the counseling suites opened without a chime.

That alone caught Nala off guard.

She stepped inside and felt the ship recede.

Not disappear.
Just… pull back.

The corridor beyond Sickbay noise was gone here, replaced by softer acoustics: dampened footfalls, air systems tuned low, lighting deliberately warm rather than clinical. The quiet wasn’t empty it was expectant, the kind that left room for thoughts to echo.

That was almost worse.

Nala slowed without meaning to.

Her ears lifted slightly, angling, searching for the familiar anchors of machinery and motion. They weren’t gone, just muted enough that her own thoughts rushed forward to fill the space.

She approached the reception console, posture precise.

“Ensign Nala Shai’Mori t’Liriena,” she said. “Scheduled for psychological intake.”

The console acknowledged her with a soft visual pulse. No voice. No questions. A direction indicator illuminated down the hall.

Of course, she thought. Go sit. Wait. Think.

She followed the guidance to a small waiting alcove and chose a chair near the wall, positioning herself so she could see the doorway without sitting directly in its line. Habit. Awareness. Control.

The quiet pressed in.

Here, there were no overlapping alarms to dissect, no system harmonics to catalog. Her mind, denied external structure, turned inward too fast, too sharp.

You didn’t sleep enough.
Your heart rate was elevated in Sickbay.
You responded too quickly to the nurse.
They’ll notice.

Her tail curled tight around her ankle. She forced it to relax, then curl again more deliberately, a grounding motion she’d practiced. One paw rubbed briefly against the fabric of her uniform sleeve, claws tracing the seam.

The ship’s hum was still there distant, barely perceptible—but now it felt like something far away she couldn’t quite reach.

She inhaled slowly.

This wasn’t the Academy.
This wasn’t a formality.

This evaluation mattered.

Psych knew her file. Knew about the pacing issues. The overload thresholds. The counseling notes she’d worked so hard to turn from flags into footnotes. She straightened, smoothing imaginary creases from her uniform, jaw setting.

You are fit, she reminded herself. You were cleared. You earned this posting.

Still, her ears flicked at a sound that wasn’t there.

She didn’t pace.
Didn’t fidget openly.
Didn’t bolt.

She waited quietly, intensely aware of herself in the absence of noise until the moment came when someone else would finally break the silence.

Ensign Nala