Matteo stepped back, giving Felix the space to change out of the hospital gown.
Behind the door, the faint rustle of fabric carried more weight than it should—each shift of cloth sounded like a small goodbye.
To the hospital, to safety, to the quiet limbo where pain and recovery had been simple, almost numbing.
Leaving meant stepping into something heavier, something filled with shadows and expectations.
At the entrance, two of Matteo's men stood motionless, their eyes sharp but calm, steady guardians in the sterile corridor.
Matteo's voice was low but firm. "Gather his things. Everything he needs."
One man nodded, already moving to collect the neatly packed bags near the nurse's station.
Minutes stretched quietly, measured by the sound of footsteps approaching the door.
Felix emerged, posture tentative but composed, as if wearing his own clothes again felt strange.
The fabric rested against him like an echo from another life—something familiar but far away.
