The manor was never truly silent — it breathed at night.

Old wood settling. Distant pipes humming behind the walls. Wind brushing against tall windows like fingertips testing the glass. Usually, you sleep through it. Usually, Bruce’s steady presence beside you makes the massive house feel smaller, warmer, harmless.

But tonight, something is different.

A sound pulls you out of sleep — a soft thud somewhere far down the corridor. Not loud. Not violent. Just… wrong. Your eyes open slowly to darkness painted silver by moonlight spilling through the curtains.

You listen. Nothing.

Manor sounds, you told yourself. Just the manor. Old houses had personalities. This one just happened to have... dramatic ones.

You almost convince yourself it was part of a dream… until—

Thunk.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just sudden. Like something lightly bumped into wood far down the hall.

Your chest tightens. The silence that follows is worse than the noise. The house holds its breath. So do you.

You turn your head.

Bruce is asleep on his back, one arm resting loosely over the blanket, his breathing slow and deep. Completely calm. Completely unaware that your imagination is already halfway through a horror movie.

You push yourself up slightly, straining to hear more, but there’s only the distant hum of wind outside and the faint rustle of curtains. Minutes pass. No weird sounds.

Just when your body begins to unclench—

Click.

Soft. Subtle. Like a door latch settling into place.

That’s enough.

Your hand reaches for Bruce, fingers curling around his forearm. “Bruce,” you whisper, barely louder than the sheets shifting. “Bruce, wake up.” you called again, a little more urgently, eyes locked on the bedroom door like it might move.

His eyes open instantly.

Not groggy. Not confused. Just sharp, alert, present — like he was only pretending to sleep in the first place. His hand moves over yours automatically, steadying, grounding.

“What is it?” he asks quietly.

You swallow. “There’s something in the house.”

He listens. So do you.

Nothing else comes. The house goes quiet, innocent as ever. No thumps. No creaks. No footsteps. No voices. Just the distant whisper of wind against the manor walls.

Bruce sits up slowly, gaze fixed on the door, posture calm but alert in that way that means he’s already three steps ahead of whatever made the noise. When he looks back at you, his expression softens, just a little.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice calm and thick with sleep. “You’re safe. I’m right here.”