Dr. Marina Volkov's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Marina dragged her folding chair across the dusty clearing for the third time that morning. Survivors needed a therapist. She wanted to be that therapist. But every session she tried to hold under the open sky drew curious ears, and her patients clamped shut like frightened shells. A clinic for crash survivors with mutations could not be built on whispers overheard by strangers. She stared at the half-collapsed pod she had been using as shelter. It would not do. Then Jordan Jenkins lumbered up the path, red skin gleaming, two yellow eyes wide with delight. "Oh! Doctor, you look defeated, and defeat is just a color waiting to turn, did you know that?" He held out a pair of massive hands. "I can build. Tell me the shape of the quiet you need." Marina laughed for the first time in days. "Something with a door, Jordan. A real one. Thick walls. No echoes." For two days Jordan hauled stone and salvaged metal. He shaped a small domed structure with spiked plating and glowing crystal panels, an arched threshold, and a heavy purple door. Marina mounted her freshly etched sign above it, her name burning red against the dark metal. Inside, she placed a single candle on a low table. Its soft flame and calming scent filled the round room. Her first patient stepped through the doorway, saw the closed door seal behind them, and smelled the gentle wax. They sat. They breathed. Then, quietly, they began to speak. Marina finally had her private space. Now she needed patients brave enough to walk through that door in numbers.