She swallowed.

“Determine whezher it is.”

“How?”

“Touch nothing initially. Look for corroboration. Ask someone else if available. Check whezher ozher objects behave normally.”

“Good.”

“And if it keeps happening?”

“Call Tarkhe.”

Tarkhe looked mildly satisfied.

Kimia hated that.

“Would you flee?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“Whezher I actually zhink it's melting.”

“Would you trust your own perception immediately?”

Kimia looked at him.

“No.”

That answer hurt.

The doctor wrote.

Then there were tasks involving judgment.

Planning routes.

Sequencing actions.

Choosing between incomplete information.

Kimia excelled.

Government helped.

The neurologist gave her a scenario involving limited food, three settlements, broken transport, uncertain weather.

Kimia immediately began asking questions beyond the scenario.

“How many vehicles?”

“Four.”

“What capacity?”

“Assume equal.”

“Road condition?”

“Moderate.”

“Distance?”

He smiled faintly.

“Zhis is not a logistics examination.”

“It is now.”

Tarkhe covered his mouth.

The neurologist supplied the details.

Kimia solved it.

Then rejected her first solution.

Found another.

Explained why.

The doctor wrote more.

“Stop enjoying zhis.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

Eventually the examination ended.

Not with a dramatic final card.

The neurologist simply looked down at his checklist and realized there was nothing left.

Kimia remained seated.

Her head hurt from concentration.

The kilcane had mostly receded.

What remained was fatigue.

Honest fatigue.

The doctor organized his papers.

Kimia watched.

“Well?”

“I need to review some scores.”

“Now?”

“Some.”

He performed several calculations.

Tarkhe waited. The indrel stood.

Kimia had never felt more like an object left on a table.

The neurologist looked up.

“Broadly?”

“Yes.”

“Your orientation is intact.”

Kimia nodded.

“Language is strong.”

“Good.”

“Working memory is strong. Delayed recall is wizhin expected range. Executive reasoning is strong.”

Another nod.

“Visuospatial performance mostly normal. Some inconsistencies.”

Kimia's stomach tightened.

“Perception?”

“Some inconsistencies.”

“Zhere it is.”

“Yes.”

He folded one sheet over another.

“Your reality testing is mostly preserved.”

Mostly.

The word landed heavily.

Kimia stared.

“Mostly.”

“Yes.”

“What does zhat mean?”

“It means you experience perceptual distortions and sometimes assign zhem zhreatening meaning, but you generally retain the ability to question them.”

“Generally.”

“Yes.”

“You keep choosing terrible adverbs.”

“Zhey are accurate.”

Kimia looked toward Tarkhe.

He did not rescue her.

The neurologist continued.

“You are not showing serious cognitive impairment.”

“Good.”

“You are not showing significant memory loss.”

“Good.”

“You are not showing a major language or reasoning deficit.”

“Good.”

“You do show instability in perception, attention under stress, and interpretation.”

Kimia said nothing.

“Substance use complicates this.”

There.

“Whiteblood.”

“Yes.”

“Kilcane.”

“Yes.”

“Medication.”

“Yes.”

“Sleep.”

“Yes.”

“Alcohol.”

“Yes.”

Kimia sighed.

The doctor softened his voice.

“I am not telling you zhat you are unfit.”

Kimia looked at him.

“Are you telling me I'm fit?”

“Mostly.”

She nearly laughed.

Of course.

Mostly.

The entire day reduced to that word.

“Fit enough to travel?”

“Yes.”

“Attend zhe Diet?”

“From what I've seen today, yes.”

“Govern?”

The doctor paused.

Kimia's stomach dropped.

Then: “Yes.”

She breathed.

“But.”