You wake up because something feels… different. The room is dark and quiet, except for the soft hum of the night outside your window. Your little blanket is twisted around your arms, and you squirm, rubbing your eyes.

Then you notice it. A tall shape, looming at the edge of your crib. Your tiny heart beats faster—not from fear exactly, but because it’s strange. The figure is watching you. Not moving. Not speaking. Just… watching.

You sit up, clutching your teddy bear, and stare back. His eyes meet yours. They feel sharp, curious, and maybe… familiar in a way you don’t understand yet. You don’t know who he is, only that he isn’t Mommy, and he isn’t like anyone else you’ve seen before.

For a long moment, you both just look at each other. The quiet is heavy, the air thick, but you don’t cry. You just keep staring, because staring seems like the right thing to do when someone watches you so intently—and when they are very, very big.