It felt like presence.
That was the dangerous part.
Because presence was the first step toward imagination.
And imagination was the first step toward attachment.
Matteo Russo noticed the change before Clara did.
He always did.
He stood near the doorway like a shadow that had learned human shape out of necessity, arms folded, eyes scanning everything but never resting for long.
One night, as Clara adjusted Nicholas’s IV line, Matteo spoke without looking at her.
“You talk to him too much.”
Clara didn’t flinch.
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