The scent of baked salmon and warm bread lingered in the private hospital pantry, quiet except for the soft clinking of cutlery and the occasional laugh. Amelia sat between Jessica and Isabel at the long dining table. Zach was across from them, his arms crossed, eyes calm but watchful as always. At the end of the table sat Charles Arison and his wife Vivienne, both gracious hosts of the meal. Dr. Levin had joined them—one more familiar face comfortably settled into the rhythm of a post-volunteer dinner. Director Andres had planned to attend but was called away at the last minute to address an urgent matter in the surgical ward, promising to check in later that evening once things had settled. The air was light, normal. Amelia had even smiled a few times. “I still can’t believe how many

