Luciano did not leave after setting the food down.
Instead, he pulled a massive chair close and sat with her, close enough that his knee brushed the edge of the bed, close enough that Eloise could feel the quiet gravity of him even when he wasn't touching her. He plated the food himself with the same care he gave everything else—measured portions, balanced, intentional—then handed her the fork like it mattered, signaling the importance of the simple act of nourishment.
"Eat," he said gently. Not an order. An anchor. A grounding presence.
