The shadows in the room had deepened.
Billy hadn't moved from the bed. The phone lay beside him now, the screen gone dark.
His arm rested over his eyes, shielding him from the ceiling light — not asleep, just… distant.
A knock came at the door. Soft.
"Leon?" Camila's voice called gently through the wood. "Dinner's ready."
No answer at first.
Then he shifted, slowly sitting up, rubbing a hand down his face.
"Yeah," he said, voice quiet. "I'm coming."
He stood, every motion heavy, like each limb remembered something his mind didn't. At the dresser, he glanced at himself in the mirror — just long enough to see the hint of redness in his eyes.
He didn't try to fix it.
Just straightened his shirt, ran a hand through his hair, and stepped toward the door.
As he opened it, Camila stood waiting in the hall, arms folded, her expression soft but searching.
She didn't ask. She didn't need to.
