The room was quiet, lit only by the faint spill of hallway light slipping under the door. You were curled into him, back pressed to his chest, legs tangled, his arm draped around your waist like it had always belonged there. His breath was warm against the curve of your neck, slow and steady, each exhale syncing with the rise and fall of your own chest.

He had been half-asleep when he mumbled something earlier, just the weight of his voice melting into your skin as he nuzzled closer. You smiled then, fingers brushing over his hand where it rested against you, and let yourself drift.

But something pulled you back.

Not loud. Not sudden. Just… wrong.

Your eyes opened slowly, the air in the room was still thick with sleep. Nothing had changed, his arm was still around you, his body pressed warm and heavy against yours, his breathing deep and undisturbed. But the sound lingered in the quiet.

A click.

Faint, sharp, like a door latch. Not yours.

You didn’t move. Just listened.

There it was again, the almost imperceptible creak of floorboards, like someone shifting their weight just outside the room. The kind of sound that’s only obvious in the middle of the night, when everything else is silent.

Your eyes flicked to the door. The handle hadn’t moved, but the light beneath it looked… interrupted. Like something passed in front of it. A shadow, slow and soft, then gone.

You almost turned to wake Jacob.

But he didn’t stir, still dead asleep.

His breathing stayed calm, undisturbed, like nothing had changed. His fingers remained lightly curled against you, unmoving, too relaxed.