~DANIEL'S POV~
A strip of paper dangles near the doorway, slightly torn at one end. Above it, handwriting on a scrap reads Good Luck in Seattle. Dr. Anderson - those letters stuck crooked to the wall next to where the coffee brews each morning. Floating there, colors hung like forgotten decorations from a night before. A hint of scorched popcorn mixed with the quiet trace of toasted bread in the air
I hated it.
It began when Dr. Morrison mentioned her break in Seattle. Her words slipped into the room like old music. A small nod showed up without thought. Then a grin - quick, almost accidental. Was there real curiosity? Probably not. More like habit wearing the shape of attention.
Still, I watched the door.
Waiting.
Beside the window, Brooklyn said she'd come by. Her note came yesterday - plain words: I will be there. Not drifting past, instead holding ground till every loose part finds its end.
