Can’t sleep. Can’t sleep. Can’t sleep.

Chigurh sits upright, hearing the mattress creak as he glances at the light peeking out under the door. There are faint sounds of cars driving by on the highway. The wind claws at the window, a low rattle that seems to speak only to him.

His hand reaches for the gun propped against the wall. The cold steel greets him, familiar ridges of the trigger and barrel pressed into his palm. It offers some sort of safety, but not enough to ease him back to slumber.

There’s something out there. And until it is gone, he cannot rest.