When Charles opened his eyes again, it was already noon the next day. He was lying in bed, and on a small table beside him sat a familiar yet out-of-place breakfast of soy milk and fried dough sticks.
A warmth spread through his chest. Only Anna knew how to make these. Having a family member who truly knew him in this strange place felt incredibly good.
The soy milk was fresh and sweet, and the dough sticks were fragrant and crisp. Charles ate with immense satisfaction. Just as he got out of bed, full and content, his entire body went rigid. His eyes locked onto the bedroom door.
With his keen hearing, Charles could detect the slightest sound. Yet, there had been no footsteps outside. Now, however, a letter lay at his doorway—a white envelope resting silently on the red carpet.
