“Yeah.” I nodded, feeling embarrassed by the answer. But why should I be? That was what they had taught me to do—all I’d focused on my first time here was controlling my ability enough to mitigate the narcoleptic symptoms and I’d done that. But I didn’t say that to Agent Green, instead asking a question that had been bothering me since my last appointment with Dr. Bright, the one that had confirmed that I needed to come back here.

“Dr. Bright didn’t think it was a good idea for me to come back here,” I told him. “She agreed that I need help, but she didn’t seem to like the idea of me doing another program at the AM.”

“What did she suggest instead?” Owen asked, leaning back in his chair. His normally open face shuttered a bit, turning into a carefully neutral mask. That was the second time mentioning Dr. Bright had caused some sort of reaction. I still don’t really understand what her relationship to the AM is, but I’m getting curious.

“More frequent therapy sessions,” I said. “More diligence on my part—meditating more, journaling again.”

“You haven’t been journaling?” he asked, looking like a kicked puppy. It almost made me want to reach into my bag and show him that I’d brought this notebook. But I didn’t want him to see how few pages I’d used since he last laid eyes on it.

“Not as much,” I said. “It was always meant to help me track stuff so I could control things better. I don’t know why I would have to keep it up now that I’m where I’m at.”

“It’s not just about your ability, Rose,” he said. “Dr. Loving said that it was helping you process a lot of different things in your life—she seemed to think it was very beneficial to you, based on what you told her about it during your last stay. I would imagine there are still things worth writing down, especially with what’s happening with your father—”

“So what’s the plan this time around?” I asked bluntly. I like Owen, but I was not ready to have that conversation with him. He seemed to understand that, letting me steer the conversation away from the difficult things.

“Well, similar to before,” he said, opening up my file for the first time. He didn’t seem to actually read it, instead scanning his eyes over it like he just needed something to do. “You’ll do therapy, physical checkups, dreamdiving sessions, but no group—”

“Thank god,” I mumbled.

“I hear it wasn’t your favorite last time,” he said, giving me a small smile.

“Yeah, not really my thing,” I admitted.