Room 412

Lorna decided that if she packed another box before sunrise, she would have to live in a suitcase for the rest of her life. It was a small deadline, arbitrary and fragile, but it was hers. She sat on the edge of the king-sized bed in room 412, her hands resting on the cardboard flaps, listening to the silence of a city that had stopped caring about itself hours ago.

Five weeks. She had counted the nights like beads on a rosary, descending to the lobby every evening to speak to the man who kept the lights on. Tonight was the last one. The boxes were taped shut, waiting by the door, but she wasn’t ready to leave the only place where she had felt seen, even if it was only through the thin veneer of polite conversation.

She stood up, the floorboards cool beneath her bare feet, and walked to the elevator. The lobby smelled of lemon polish and old coffee, the HVAC system humming a low, steady note that vibrated in her teeth. Elias was behind the desk, exactly where he always was. He was tall, his shoulders straining against the cheap polyester of his uniform, and his hands—large, capable, stained faintly with ink from the ledger he was balancing—moved with a deliberate, calm precision. He looked up as the elevator doors slid open, and the smile that reached his eyes was warm, familiar, and entirely unguarded.