When they came to a fork in the hallway, Norman stopped and regarded them both with a withdrawn but slightly judgmental look. His feet severed the cusp between their part of the hallway and the medical wing beyond, toes pointed forward. The walls gleamed as white as his teeth did.

Even when the air was quiet, it echoed with implication that was lost on none of them. At least Dr. Chilton caught on quick, even if also in ways Norman didn't want him to. Psychiatrists.

"I don't expect it to be. I oversaw all the renovations myself; not even Houdini could breach our systems. If anyone did I'd expect them to be the goddamn messiah himself," Norman said, his sneer curling a little at the corner. He put his hands on his hips, looking from the two of them -- though he lingered on Chilton for a moment, almost suspiciously -- to survey the halls from where he stood.

"I'm a businessman, Chilton," he added, his eyes narrowing a sliver. "PR is what I do. That doesn't mean it's insincere. The authorities have to work with us, however much they may complain. The institution is actually just outside the city lines, but it's all official. They just don't trust imPorts to know how to handle imPorts."