Paper

The monotonous thrum of hospital machines was beginning to fray her nerves.

Adeline pushed herself a little more upright in bed, the morning sun filtering through the blinds and glinting off the corners of the laptop Nathan had brought the day before. She wasn't supposed to be working. Everyone had said as much—Elias most of all, though he never said it aloud.

Still, her fingers itched for purpose. For structure. For the clean geometry of facts and problems to solve. Anything to quiet the disorder in her mind.

She heard the knock before the door creaked open.

"Nathan," she said, managing a faint but genuine smile as the aide stepped inside.

He carried a small box in one hand, a slim paper folder tucked under his arm. "Jakarta files, as requested. And cookies from the café you like. The receptionist gave me a look."

Adeline chuckled, brief but warm. "She probably assumed they were for Elias."

Nathan grinned. "He'd never touch anything that's been exposed to oxygen."

A discreet cough interrupted them. Nathan turned—and so did she.

Elias stood just inside the door, silent as always. His coat was off, sleeves rolled to the forearms with quiet precision. He didn't approach, just observed, his presence sharp and still.

"I told Nathan it was fine," Adeline said quickly, before either of them could speak.

Elias didn't look away. "You're still recovering."

"I need to feel useful," she replied, soft but steady. "It helps."

A silence followed—longer than comfortable. Nathan glanced between them, sensing the tension, the conversation that wasn't happening. But Elias didn't argue. Didn't forbid. He moved instead to the chair by the window, settling in with composed reluctance.

Out of the way—but not gone.

Permission, in silence.

Nathan stepped forward, setting the folder on her bedside tray. "Just the essentials. No urgency."

Adeline gave him a grateful look and opened it, though her attention continued to drift back to Elias.

He hadn't said another word.

But she noticed his hands—still, clenched, white-knuckled. He hadn't touched a single surface since he entered.

Later, when Nathan had gone and she pretended to be absorbed in reading, she looked up from her screen.

Elias was watching her.

Not the files. Not the laptop.

Her.

As if trying to measure something. As if deciding whether to speak or stay silent.

He said nothing.

But he did not leave.