**"The Therapist's Prey"**

Lena had been through four therapists in as many years. Trust didn’t come easy to her, not after everything she’d been through. When she walked into Dr. Caleb Marsh’s office, she wasn’t expecting much. The clinic’s waiting room was bland—neutral-toned walls, standard motivational posters, the faint scent of antiseptic. It was like any other. But when Dr. Marsh stepped out to greet her, something felt different.

He was tall, with a neatly trimmed beard and an easy smile. His office was warm, with soft lighting and leather-bound books lining the shelves. It was the kind of room where one might feel safe enough to spill their darkest secrets.

Lena hesitated at first, testing him with small revelations. He listened attentively, his blue eyes never wavering, his expression soft but inscrutable. Unlike her previous therapists, he didn’t push her or pry into her past. He simply waited, letting the silence draw out her thoughts. Gradually, Lena found herself talking more than she had with anyone in years.

Weeks passed, and she began to trust him. Dr. Marsh had a way of making her feel understood, even when her thoughts were tangled and messy. He would lean forward slightly, his hands steepled under his chin, and listen as if she were the most important person in the world.

But something nagged at the back of her mind, an unease she couldn’t quite place. It started with little things—the way his eyes would linger just a bit too long on her when she spoke about vulnerable moments, the odd, almost gleeful smile that would flash across his face when she described her darkest fears.

One evening, as she sat on her couch, replaying their last session in her mind, a memory resurfaced. She had mentioned her struggle with nightmares—dreams where she felt hunted, unable to escape. Dr. Marsh had leaned in, his voice a shade too eager as he asked, “And in these dreams, do you ever feel… excited? Like you might actually enjoy the fear?”

Lena had dismissed it at the time, brushing it off as an odd but harmless question. But now, thinking back, it chilled her. Why would a therapist ask that?

The more she thought about it, the more inconsistencies she found. Dr. Marsh had a penchant for discussing fear and pain, often circling back to those topics no matter where their conversation began.

One night, unable to sleep, Lena did something she had never done before—she researched Dr. Marsh. What she found was deeply unsettling. Before moving to her city, he had abruptly left his last practice, and there were rumors—unsubstantiated, buried deep in obscure forums—of unethical behavior, of patients who had mysteriously stopped showing up. There was even talk of a police investigation, though no charges had been filed.

Lena’s blood ran cold. She remembered the way his eyes seemed to shine when she spoke of her fears, the way he encouraged her to dig deeper into her trauma, never offering comfort, only urging her to explore her pain further.

The realization hit her hard—Dr. Marsh wasn’t helping her. He was feeding off her. The fear that had been simmering in the back of her mind now came to the surface, full-blown and terrifying.

She knew she had to leave, to never go back. But as she reached for her phone to cancel her next appointment, it buzzed in her hand. A message from an unknown number lit up the screen.

“Lena, I hope you’re not thinking of running. We still have so much to discuss.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Dr. Marsh wasn’t just a therapist—he was a predator, and she had unwittingly become his prey.