The fire crackled softly in the corner of the room, casting flickering shadows over the bookshelves that lined the walls. Bram Stoker paced slowly, his footsteps quiet but deliberate as they echoed through the library. You were sitting on the couch, the pages of a book in your lap, but your mind was elsewhere. There was something different about him tonight. The usual confidence in his step seemed weighed down by something, a tension in the air you couldn’t quite place.

Finally, he broke the silence. “You should move away from the window,” his voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. “It’s too close. You never know what could happen out there.”

You blinked, lifting your eyes to meet his. “Bram, I’m fine. It’s just a window.”

He shot you a sharp look, his dark eyes narrowing. “I’m serious,” he said, stepping closer, his usual tone of authority slipping through. “You don’t need to put yourself at risk. It’s not safe.”

“Bram, I’m not a child,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, though you couldn’t deny the frustration that bubbled up. “You don’t have to protect me from everything.”

His gaze softened for a moment before hardening again. “I’m not protecting you because I think you’re weak,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But I’ve seen too much. You don’t know what’s out there.”

You paused, looking down at the book in your hands. There was a strange tenderness in his words, even if his delivery was as stoic as ever. “You don’t have to do this, Bram,” you murmured. “You don’t have to watch over me like I’m some fragile thing.”

“I’m not treating you like that,” he replied, though there was a slight tension in his voice. “I just don’t want to see you hurt. I care, that’s all.”

You met his eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the tension. “I know,” you said softly. “But I can take care of myself.” He looked at you for a long moment, as if weighing his next words. “I don’t doubt that,” he said finally. “But I’ll always be here. Whether you like it or not.”

The silence hung between you.