The glass doors of the haematology wing slid open and Komi stepped out first, guiding the rhythm of the group.
Olivia followed, eyes scanning the street instinctively—habit, not paranoia.
Miranda trailed behind them, finishing a polite nod toward the nurse at the front desk.
And then came Hori, arms folded until she got to the curb, then sighed loudly like leaving the hospital had taken more effort than the entire procedure inside.
"I swear," she muttered, "that felt like six hours."
"It was three," Miranda said without looking up from her phone.
Then came Izan.
The paper band from his wrist had been cut, and his hoodie sleeves were pushed halfway up to let the afternoon breeze hit his skin.
He looked tired, but not ruined—just slower, a little sunken around the eyes.
Until Hori turned, falling into step beside him.
"Hey."
He gave a half-nod.
She narrowed her eyes, a small grin playing at the corners of her mouth.
