He wiped his face with the back of his hand and got up.
He found the duffle bag at the bottom of the wardrobe. He hadn't brought much when he came.
That was the thing about never fully unpacking, it made leaving simpler.
He folded what was his carefully, without worry, one item at a time.
His clothes, his charger, the small toiletries he had accumulated in the bathroom.
The folder from the press conference that he never wanted to look at again but folded neatly and placed in the bag anyway.
He zipped it up and set it by the door.
Then he looked around the room.
It looked exactly as it had the first night he slept in it.
Like he had never really been here at all.
Like he had passed through it and left no mark.
He supposed that was appropriate.
He picked up the piece of paper on the desk where he had written the apartment pin code that morning when Ansel had told him.
He read it once, twice, committing it to memory. Then he folded it and tucked it into his pocket.
