The folder lands on the table with a soft thud. White walls, fluorescent hum, the faint antiseptic smell that clings to every surface in this place. Dr. Maren Sollis sits across from you, her pen resting beside a legal pad covered in neat, controlled handwriting. She hasn't opened the folder yet. She's watching you instead. The evaluation took weeks. Blood draws, questionnaires, sessions recorded behind one-way glass. Someone wanted answers badly enough to send you here. Now the results are sitting between you like something neither of you has agreed to name. She clears her throat softly. You already know what the folder says. The real question is what you'll let her believe.