Scully lay on her bed, the dim light of the hallway creeping under the door and casting faint shadows on the walls. The medication had been handed to her earlier that evening, and as always, she had taken it in front of the nurse, letting the woman see the pill slip past her lips. She wasn't about to make it easy for them—not when she didn't know what they were doing to her, not when she was still trying to piece together the fragments of what had happened to her.

Once the nurse had left, Scully didn't hesitate. She sat up, her body moving with quiet precision. The pill she had taken slid easily back out of her mouth, and with a small, practiced motion, she spat it into her hand. The small white tablet didn't look like much, but she knew it was just one piece of a larger puzzle—something they wanted her to take, something she knew wasn't going to make her better.

She stood, her legs stiff from being in bed for so long, but the tension in her body, the nagging feeling that she wasn't safe, kept her moving. Her heart raced slightly as she walked over to the toilet, the cool ceramic edge pressing against her fingers as she flushed the pill away. She watched the water swirl for a moment before turning away.

Now came the hard part.

She waited, listening intently to the sounds of the building around her—the faint hum of fluorescent lights, the distant murmur of conversations, the soft tread of footsteps along the hall. The floor was quiet.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped toward the door. She cracked it open slowly, barely making a sound, and peered out into the hall. The nurse had just finished her rounds, and Scully could see her disappearing down the opposite end of the corridor. This was her chance.

Scully moved quickly but quietly, her shoes making no noise against the polished floors as she walked down the hallway. She glanced around, making sure there were no other doctors or nurses lurking in the shadows, before slipping past a couple of rooms and making her way toward the nurses' station.

The station was just ahead, a small desk with computers, papers, and a few chairs, most of which were empty. The nurse on duty was nowhere in sight, likely having gone to check on another floor. This was her moment. She just had to get in, check what she could, and get back to her room before anyone noticed.

Her hand hovered over the counter, her eyes scanning for anything out of place. Papers. Files. A binder with names on it. Her fingers grazed the surface until they found what she was looking for—one of the folders that seemed to have more detail than the others, a handwritten note sticking out of the side.

With a glance over her shoulder to make sure the hallway remained clear, she quickly slid the folder out and flipped it open. Inside, her breath hitched. There were notes on her progress, details about her therapy, the medication they were giving her, and—most chillingly—there were mentions of the "alternative treatment" she was receiving, things that hadn't been discussed with her. There were references to her behavior, her cooperation with the doctors, and the use of certain sedatives that seemed to be in greater doses than necessary.

Scully's heart raced as she skimmed the pages, her mind racing to make sense of what she was reading. They were trying to break her down. She couldn't trust them.

She quickly closed the folder, her eyes darting around the room again. She had to act fast. She put the folder back where she had found it and stepped away from the desk, barely breathing, as she retraced her steps back toward her room.

When she returned to her bed, she sat down hard, her body tense but her mind clearer than it had been in days. This wasn't just a facility for her well-being. She wasn't here for therapy—she was here because someone, or something, had made sure she would stay here, quiet, docile, and under control.

Scully's gaze shifted to the window, her thoughts running over the evidence she had just uncovered. She didn't know who was behind this, or why they were doing it, but she would find out. She had to. And she would make sure Mulder found out, too.

She had to hold on.