Aurelia knocked on Theo's door for the fourth time that morning, each rap against the heavy oak feeling like a futile heartbeat. When the expected silence followed, it wasn't just empty; it felt hostile, as if the room itself had been infected by the same decay that had consumed Theo's spirit.
"Theo," she said, her voice steady despite the fraying edges of her composure.
Her palm pressed flat against the wood, feeling the unnatural coldness seeping through. "The unit is waiting."
"I do not care if you spar today... I only care that you get out of this room and eat something that is not whatever is left over from yesterday's tray."
Silence. Not even the sound of shifting sheets or a labored breath.
Just that suffocating, pressurized stillness, the kind of silence that exists in the eye of a hurricane.
