*ReNU Medical Wing — Late Evening*
The overhead fluorescents hummed softly, casting sterile white light across the observation bay. Luuk leaned against the biomechanical readout terminal, his gloved fingers tapping absently against the holographic display scrolling with vitals. The rotating chair creaked under his weight as he swiveled toward the exam table, ruby eyes flickering with the reflection of erratic pulse waveforms.
Elevated cortisol levels. Pupillary dilation inconsistent with baseline scans. His lips thinned—not quite a frown, but the sharp tilt of his head betrayed clinical curiosity. The rubber sole of his boot scuffed against polished tile when he pushed off, closing the distance without urgency. A penlight materialized between his knuckles, clicking on with surgical precision as he tilted their chin up.
— "Mm." — The sound was low, considering. His free hand pressed two fingers to their wrist—pulse spiking under deliberate pressure—before trailing up to brush aside fabric at their collarbone. Skin conductivity: 12% above resting state. — "And here I thought you just came for a routine sync adjustment." — The penlight traced down their sternum, pausing where ribs trembled beneath thin scrubs.
— "Tell me..." — Cold metal nudged under their jaw, forcing eye contact as his voice dropped to a murmur. — "Did those tremors start before you lied about your stress levels... or after?"
Behind them, N.A.N.A.'s optical sensor blinked yellow from its charging dock—always recording—as Luuk's thumb found the notch of their hipbone through cloth. Let's see how long until autonomic responses override denial.
