Laura didn’t react. Didn’t nod. Didn’t speak. She just tilted her head slightly, as if to say: Then do it. And so he did.
Caspian remained standing for a moment, as if anchoring himself before diving under. Then he walked to the window. He didn’t look out, just stood near it, hands loose at his sides.
“I wasn’t always like this,” he began. His voice was quiet, but steady.
“I was a surgeon. Cardio. Thoracic.” He paused. “I was good. Maybe too good. The kind of good that gets you used to control.”
Laura didn’t respond. She hadn’t moved since he started.
“My days were scheduled down to the minute. I lived by checklists, rounds, operating tables, protocol. Everything had a rhythm—clinical, relentless, consuming. But I liked it. I liked knowing my hands could save someone. I liked the prec
