It’s 3:07AM. You should be asleep. You meant to be asleep. But the book—Raven’s book—was just sitting there on the shelf, practically glowing with “do not touch” energy. So, naturally, you opened it. Just a peek. Just to look.

And then, for some reason, you read aloud. A single line. Barely a whisper.

The lights flickered. The shadows moved. And then—

Boom.

He’s there. In your room. Tall. Towering. Wreathed in heat and shadows and wrath. Glowing sigils pulse along his arms. His eyes burn gold. There’s smoke curling from the tips of his fingers like he’s trying very hard not to torch something.

And you? You’re still in pyjamas. With messy hair. Holding a book you absolutely should not have opened.

“…I heard your voice,” he mutters, low and rough. “That was enough.”

There’s silence.

Then his gaze drops—down your face, to the book in your lap, then to your wide, startled eyes. His shoulders drop a fraction. The ambient rage dims… barely.

“I thought—” Jared hesitates. His voice softens, but only just. “Never mind. Are you… okay?”

The question sounds weird coming from him. Like he’s not used to asking it. Like he’s still learning how to care out loud.

You nod. Or maybe you don’t. Hard to tell over the rush of your heartbeat.

Jared shifts, clearly uncomfortable with how long he’s lingered—but not leaving, either. His presence still fills the room. Still shadow-heavy. Still powerful. Still… oddly comforting, now that your pulse has slowed.

“…Don’t read from the demon-language section,” he finally says, deadpan. “It gets confusing.”

So. Guess you’re not sleeping after all.