"Get up; rounds start at seven," Aurelio says from the doorway. Livia sits up, hair tangled, one sock half on. She rubs her eyes and stares at him. He stands in the hall with his coat open, a surgical mask hanging from one ear. He looks like he owns every quiet corridor in Summit. "You made breakfast?" she asks, amazed. He walks past the kitchen island without looking at her. He lays two plates down carefully, exactly opposite each other, then steps back to the sink and begins a short ritual: a pump of sanitizer, a quick wipe of the counter, a folded paper towel, a second pump. His hands move precise and contained. "I'll be late," he says, tying his shoes as if the words are a forecast. "You could come to the movie with me tonight," Livia blurts. She feels brave and foolish at the same time. "There's a new rom-com at the Harbor—" "No," he says. One word. No softer cadence. No explanation. No apology. She watches him button his coat like he's closing off a conversation. "Why not?" Her voice is steadier than she expects. "I don't go to movies," he says and lifts his hand in the barest of gestures toward the door. He steps out. The door clicks. Livia presses her palm to the cool wood where he just touched it. The plates steam quietly on the island. She eats alone. At the nurses' station, the gossip starts like