Lucas hesitated for a moment, then pushed the door open fully.
The room was quiet, everything in its place.
His bed was neatly made, his desk clear except for a few personal items.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but the open door still nagged at him.
He wheeled himself further inside, glancing around, searching for anything that might explain the strange feeling crawling up his spine.
But everything appeared untouched.
Still, Lucas couldn't shake the sense that something wasn't quite right.
He exhaled slowly, his thoughts returning to the odd flashback he'd experienced in the car.
Tossing documents onto a bed—why had that image resurfaced?
And what was it trying to tell him?
Lucas's hand gripped the arm of his wheelchair as he tried to push the thought away.
Whatever it was, it could wait until morning.
For now, all he wanted was rest.
