Page 40 of What We Don't Say: Part One

He doesn’t come straight to me. He steps across the threshold beside Garrett, pauses when Sloane’s scent thickens with relief, and lets Idris show him the little dish of communication cards on the foyer table. Sloane asks before touching his arm, and Theo nods, accepting the brief squeeze Sloane gives him like he’s filing it somewhere important.

Then, only then, Theo shifts closer to me.

It’s half a step. Barely anything. His shoulder brushes my sleeve, and the breath he takes afterward sounds easier.

“Hi,” he whispers.

My chest goes hot and soft all at once. “Hi, Star.”

His lashes flicker at the name, and his fingers skim the hem of my cardigan before he catches himself. He looks toward Miller like he expects correction, but Miller only watches with a careful, neutral face.

Sloane sees the movement too. His eyes drop to Theo’s hand, then to me, and his smile changes into something quieter. Idris’s fingers brush my back once, a steadying touch that lets me know he saw it as well. Garrett stands close enough to be part of the circle, and when Theo glances back at him, Garrett nods toward the hall.

“Let’s show you the room first,” Garrett says. “Then food, if you want it.”

Theo nods again.

We go upstairs as a group, but it doesn’t feel like a procession. Sloane walks ahead because he can't help himself, then remembers and slows down so he isn’t leading Theo like a golden retriever with anxiety. Idris carries the bag. Garrett walks near Miller, answering the practical questions in a low voice. I stay at Theo’s side because that is where Theo keeps drifting, even when he accepts Sloane’s grin and Idris’s instructions and Garrett’s calm presence.

The suite is bright in the softest way. The curtains are open enough to show the garden without flooding the room. The lamps are on instead of the overhead light. Theo’s nesting platform sits against the far wall, broad and low and piled with blankets he rearranged four times this morning before Idris told him to stop assaulting the pillows. On the dresser, the plant book waits beside a shallow bowl of cards, a water bottle, and a small plate with two lemon bars under a glass cover.

Theo stops just inside the doorway.

I watch him look at every piece of it.

His fingers twitch when he sees the platform. Sloane holds his breath. Idris’s attention sharpens, but his body stays loose. Garrett steps aside so Theo has a clear path in or out.

“The bathroom is through there,” Idris says, pointing without moving. “No lock unless you want one added. Privacy is yours either way. Hall cameras only, no audio, and nothing in the room.”

Miller notes that too.

Sloane shifts his weight. “The platform is sturdy. I tested it.”

“He jumped on it,” Idris says.

“I tested it with enthusiasm,” Sloane corrects.

Theo looks at him, and another little almost-smile moves across his face. Sloane looks like he could live on that alone for at least a week.

Garrett picks up the plate cover and tilts it enough for Theo to see the lemon bars. “These are Callie’s. Sloane has been banned from touching them until you decide if you want one.”

Theo’s gaze snaps to me.

“I made too many,” I say, then glance at Sloane. “Because someone kept saying emergency dessert should be a legal category.”

“It should,” Sloane says. “Garrett refused to file the paperwork.”

Garrett sets the cover back down. “The courts have suffered enough.”

Theo makes a sound that might be a laugh if it had more air behind it. It isn’t much, but the room warms around it. Even Miller smiles down at her notes.

For a few minutes, it works.

Theo touches the blanket closest to the edge of the platform. He lets Sloane show him how the lower drawer pulls out with extra pillows. He lets Idris point out the cards and the water and the lamp switch. He lets Garrett explain that no one will enter without asking, even if the door is open, unless there is a safety issue.

When Miller asks if the room feels acceptable for the first settling window, Theo looks at the platform, then at the window, then at the lemon bars. His hand moves to his pocket, but he doesn’t pull out a card.

“Yes,” he whispers.