The boardroom felt colder than usual — high windows cracked open just enough to let in the morning chill that made the cheap metal blinds rattle whenever someone shifted in their seat.
Twelve people around a long table — doctors, administrators, a representative from the hospital’s legal team, and a single folder in the center of the polished wood: Patient Jeon Jungkook.
Seraphina sat near the end of the table, a pen balanced perfectly between her fingers, eyes trained on the stack of reports they’d spent the last half hour reading aloud in dry, droning voices.
Every word about Jungkook — aggression, outburst, violent behavior.
Every word a blade, thrown carefully at her.
At the head of the table, Director Renner — an old man with deep lines carved into his forehead — cleared his throat.
“It’s not the first time Jeon Jungkook has broken protocol. His history speaks for itself — attempted murder, psychosis, repeated violent episodes. Last week’s outburst was the final straw. Pushing two guards, forcing his way into your office, Dr. Seraphina—”
He didn’t bother hiding the pointed look.
Seraphina just crossed her legs slowly, pen still tapping once, twice, against her palm.
She waited until he finished. Then she smiled — a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“And how exactly is that his fault?”
A murmur rippled around the table.
One of the junior psychiatrists, Dr. Weiss — new enough to still look nervous — fidgeted with her clipboard. “We’re simply saying his treatment plan clearly isn’t working. For the safety of staff and other patients, we’re suggesting his immediate transfer to St. Elara’s High Security Rehabilitation Facility.”
A few heads nodded. A lawyer scribbled a note.
Seraphina leaned forward — her voice low and calm, but sharp enough to silence the entire room.
“So you’re suggesting we punish a patient for doing exactly what his diagnosis predicts he would do — instead of examining how you all failed to treat him properly in the first place?”
She let the words hang, like a knife balanced on the table’s edge.
Director Renner shifted. “Dr. Seraphina—”
“No. Let’s not dress it up.” Her tone cut through him cleanly. “He’s been left sedated, isolated, misdiagnosed for five years. You fed him pills and called it therapy. The only reason he’s finally responding to treatment is because someone actually listens to him now — instead of throwing him in a padded room and locking the door.”
Silence. A pen clicked nervously somewhere down the line.
Evan, seated near her, cleared his throat. “She has a point. Jungkook’s episodes have decreased significantly under Dr. Seraphina’s care. He’s stable — except when he’s ignored.”
Another board member sniffed. “Stable? He forced entry into your office.”
Seraphina’s eyes glinted. “And what does that tell you? That a patient was desperate enough to break through three guards just to speak to his doctor. He’s not your threat — he’s your responsibility.”
No one moved for a beat. Then Renner leaned back, exhaling through his nose.
“So what do you propose we do, Dr. Seraphina?”
Seraphina laid her pen down on the folder like a final verdict.
“Release the patients who are ready. Fund the additional therapy we need. And trust me to do my job — all of it. Jeon Jungkook stays here. He’s not going anywhere.”
Someone coughed at the far end of the table. Evan hid a small, approving smile beside her.
Renner rubbed his temple — already tired of the fight he knew he’d lost.
“Fine,” he muttered. “One month. If there’s another incident—”
“There won’t be.” Seraphina’s voice was pure steel.
Because she’d make sure of it — whatever it took.
YOU ARE READING
Midnight's fragment
Romance"In the melancholic halls of St.Hawthorne asylum, we find our protagonist, Jeon Jungkook, a soul burdened by the shackles of PTSD and other mental disorders. His eyes, once bright, were shattered by the wronged people of his own and now hold a haunt...
