York looked up in panic, the solitude of his office having been broken by the noise downstairs. Not only that, he'd had a feeling.<em>Something was going wrong.</em>The thought coursed through him and gave him a chilled fright.<br/><br/>He rose to the door and peeked out, not seeing anything in the corridor before him. The management hadn't given his office a lock. He wasn't allowed a gun in case a patient overpowered him during therapy and took it. His workspace was annoyingly deprived of sharp or damaging objects. He turned to his bookshelf and got himself an extra-thick copy of Jung; he'd never used such violence in his life, but he realised something terrible was going to happen.