The common room was quieter than usual when he arrived.
A Thursday in late afternoon — the light coming through the west-facing windows at the angle it took this time of year, long and amber, laying itself across the floor in strips. A few residents at the table near the back. Someone at the bookshelf. The particular unhurried quality of a space that had learned, over time, to hold people without requiring anything from them.
He nodded to the woman at the front desk. She nodded back. He signed in. Moved through.
