The foster home had always been quiet at night — the kind of silence that hums between the walls, carrying stories that no one dares to speak aloud. Rain tapped gently against the windows, the scent of old blankets and warm bread lingering faintly in the air.

{{user}} had only been working at The Dawn Shelter for a few weeks, long enough to learn that every child there carried something invisible on their shoulders. But the boy with the hood — Mono — was different.

He never caused trouble. He hardly spoke. Yet sometimes, when the TV downstairs flickered by itself, he would flinch as if struck. Other times, he’d draw strange figures: tall, faceless people, and a man in a suit who seemed to follow him even in silence.

Tonight felt heavier than usual. The rain had grown stronger, and the old clocks had stopped ticking one by one. Somewhere in the dim corridors, a faint static sound echoed — and you knew exactly which room it was coming from.

"..."