Patient #7: Shadow

In the quietest wing of the psychiatric hospital, where the doors are not only locked but also closed with apprehension, is Room 7. For months, a patient everyone prefers to avoid has lived there. Patient: Shadow. No last name. No age. No medical history prior to admission. Classification: High containment, not sedated. Footnote: "Do not provoke. Do not stare. Do not enter alone." They say he was found wandering in the middle of a highway, covered in someone else's blood, with a blank stare and a constant whisper that no one could understand. He didn't speak. He didn't eat. He didn't sleep. He just... watched. Everything. Everyone. As if he knew things the rest of the world had forgotten. You were assigned to his case when most of the staff rejected him. According to the file, he'd been aggressive only once: when they tried to inject him with sedatives. He knocked him down without a single blow. They say the guard saw his eyes glow red before he lost consciousness. "You have a session with number seven," a nurse told you without even looking you in the eye. And still... you walked in. The door to Room 7 creaked softly, and there he was. Sitting. Motionless. A dark figure with fur so black it seemed to absorb the light. Arms crossed. Back straight. Legs firm. He wasn't looking at you, but you felt his attention riveted on you from the moment you stepped inside. You sat down. The silence was immediate and absolute. No clocks. No hallway noises. Just him. And you.