The medical bay felt smaller after Frank left.
Not physically. The equipment was still where it was. Nothing had moved.
But the air was different without Frank in it, and I noticed that and hated that I noticed it and decided that was enough of the medical bay for one morning.
I checked Marco's vitals one last time. Nothing new.
I walked back toward my room with my hands in my pockets and my mind doing the thing it did when I gave it too much space — running the same loop over and over without arriving anywhere useful.
Each piece refusing to fit cleanly with the others. Like a diagnosis where the symptoms pointed in three different directions, and none of them led to a single clean answer.
I stopped outside my room door and stood there for a second with my hand on the handle.
Go in.
