The door groaned in a slow, agonizing arc, shivering on its hinges as a middle-aged woman slipped into the room. In her steady grip, she held a silver tray that caught the dim morning light.
"Good morning, sir!" she greeted, her tone clipped and practiced, slicing through the stagnant, heavy air of the bedroom.
"Ughh!" Fedora let out a guttural, jagged grunt, barely bothering to shift beneath the tangled mess of his duvet.
"Just drop it there and leave already!" he murmured, his voice thick with the gravel of interrupted sleep.
"Okay, sir!" The woman replied with a brittle, polite nod. She stepped forward, the heels of her shoes clicking sharply against the hardwood, before setting the tray down with a soft, final clink against the table.
Then, silence descended,thick, heavy, and unnatural.
Seconds bled into a long, concerning stretch of time.
