The elevator ride down felt strangely quiet.
Not empty quiet.
Finished quiet.
Lila stood beside the wheelchair with one hand curled around the handle, bouncing lightly on her heels like she'd forgotten how to stand still after weeks trapped inside hospital rooms. Their mother sat bundled in her coat, looking exhausted already from the effort of simply being upright for this long.
Leo stood beside them holding the discharge papers and two overstuffed bags.
The elevator doors reflected all three of them back in warped silver.
For a second, Leo barely recognized the version of them standing there.
Not because they looked different.
Because they'd survived.
The doors opened into the lobby.
Warm afternoon light spilled across the polished floor near the entrance, bright enough that all three of them blinked at it instinctively.
Their mother muttered, "God. Civilization."
Lila laughed immediately. "You've been inside for like a month, Ma, not prison."
