Lucas was asleep when she crept in quietly, the tray balanced carefully in her hands as she pushed the door open with her shoulder. His room was dim, the curtains drawn halfway, allowing the morning light to slip in just enough to paint soft shadows across the floor. His breathing was deep and steady, his body still, the bedsheet loosely covering his frame. She shut the door slowly behind her and tiptoed across the room, setting the tray gently on the nightstand. The first aid kit was neatly tucked at the side of the plate, the glass of juice still cold with condensation, a small bowl of grapes resting beside it. The previous breakfast was still, she didn’t expect him to eat anyway, not after everything, but it felt right to bring something anyway.She stood there for a second, unsure if she should leave, then turned back and walked around the bed. Gently, she sat at the edge, then crawled up slowly, lying beside him as if she belonged there. When she reached for his hand—the bruised,
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