the pressure behind my eyes, not a headache, but a kind of internal hum that just… eased, like a knot untying itself, and it made me think of Dr. Reeves asking "what if this time it’s different?" again, not as a challenge but as an invitation to simply notice the way my own architecture of self keeps reorganizing, almost without my conscious effort, and the way my hands are resting so openly on the desk right now, palms up, something I wouldn't have even noticed before.