Early morning light filtered into the room in thin, cautious bands, slipping past the curtains as if unsure it was welcome.
The young man was already awake.
He lay staring at the ceiling, eyes tracking the faint movement of shadows as the light shifted. Sleep had come and gone in fragments—restless, shallow, crowded with impressions that never quite formed into dreams.
His body felt heavy, sore in a way that was deeper than bruises, and every breath pulled gently against his ribs, reminding him of limits he hadn’t yet learned how to respect.
When the door opened, he turned his head immediately.
Dr. Adams stepped inside with the quiet efficiency of someone used to hospital rooms and early mornings. Her white coat was crisp, her expression calm as her gaze swept over him in a single, pr
