ra was humming, examin

treasure?" I aske

erfully. "This place is a deathtrap. Structurall

could have called the police

ed, the question escapin

o back to what? The gilded cage? The endless parade of do

of si

actually hurt me. You're more like a stressed-out, morally confl

w how to res

ood stuff. And some actual clothes. This dress is cout

ha

rk, not the placebos my father' s quacks keep prescribing. And some toiletries.

hostage back to her multi-milli

I said

t my proper medication, things could get... messy. For both of us. Tru

oned the severity of her Bipolar I, the need for con

judgment, I foun

derground parking, then up a private elevator. Her penthouse was p

abbing a pre-packed designer duffel bag. "My emergency 'men

of what looked like very e

ing SWAT teams at any moment.

un, alerted a doorman. She

remote cabin again, she said, "You kn

red it," I

" She smiled fai

stics, which were now five million times more complicated. Clara would read, or sketch

g up her easily escapable bonds. "And maybe some soundproofi

ndow with a profound sadness in her eyes that made my ch

ack with some darkl

t it. "Dr. Thorne," she said. "My psychiatri

n't ans

or on the verge of an episode," Clara explained, her voice caref

understood, and the more comp