I get dressed quietly, slipping into my coat and stuffing the lemon candy into my pocket without thinking. The streets outside are already alive—horns honking, voices rising and falling like tides. But I walk with a strange calm, earbuds in, music low. It's not raining today. That helps.
By the time I reach the hospital, my steps feel steadier.
The reception desk is familiar now. The nurse behind it greets me with a polite nod, her eyes kind but unreadable. I'm about to ask for the keycard to the third floor when she says, "Ah, before that—Dr. Erwin would like a word with you, if you have a moment."
My heart jolts. I don't let it show. I just nod, hands tucked into my coat pockets, nails pressing into my palms. "Yeah. Sure."
She gestures to the side hall. "He's in his office."
