Under my feet, I could feel a floor wet dirt and leaves losing their crisp texture. The air was colder than the muggy afternoon of the city, and I could smell moss just under the white covering over my face. I tried not to think about the jarring realization that I had no idea where I was or how I seemed to appear there in an instant.

I stood there with as much stoicism as I could muster, considering the circumstances, and aimed to present myself with the composure of my profession. I waited for him to remove the covering so that I may meet the patient, but I could not sense him there. There was no sound. Not even birdsong or the symphony of breeze through leaves high and low. Of all the eerie things that have happened in my time, this moment was by far the strangest, but I knew the consequences of removing the shroud before it was allowed.

I felt the handle of my bag slip from my sweating palms and steadied my breath and began visualizing the flow of pneuma through the body as I steadied my breath for minutes before I was shaken by a gruff voice.

“Thank you for coming, we greatly appreciate your assistance with this matter.”

His hand was on my back, and I thought my anger would burn us alive.

“You gave me no choice,” I gritted.

I felt his breath on my neck, “Of course I did.”