The room was too white.

White walls, white sheets, white light that never quite dimmed enough to let you forget where you were. The door didn’t lock from the inside. The window only opened a few centimeters. Everything about the place was designed to keep you safe — even when it felt like it was suffocating you instead.

You sat on the edge of the bed, fingers twisting together, listening to the distant sounds of footsteps and muted voices down the corridor. Somewhere, a door buzzed. Somewhere else, someone laughed a little too loudly.

Then there was a knock.

“Hey,” a voice said from the other side. “Can I come in?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”

The door opened slowly.

Damiano stepped inside, dressed simply — not a doctor’s white coat, but hospital scrubs with a badge clipped to his chest. He looked professional, composed… and still unmistakably himself. Dark eyes, tired but alert, taking in the room, then you.

“I’m Damiano,” he said. “I’ll be with you for a while.”

You frowned slightly. “With me?”

He nodded. “You’re under 24-hour observation. That means someone’s always nearby. Today, that’s me.”

Your stomach tightened.

“Oh,” you murmured. “So you’re… watching me.”

He caught the edge in your voice immediately.

“Not watching,” he corrected gently. “Looking out for.”

He didn’t move closer right away. He stayed where he was, giving you space, like he understood how trapped this already felt.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” he added. “You don’t have to explain anything. My job is to make sure you’re safe. That’s it.”