The sixth night always felt different.

The building didn’t just feel dangerous anymore—it felt expectant. Like it knew Mike was still here when he shouldn’t be.

You found him in the security office long after the hour changed, monitors glowing softly. He didn’t look at the cameras. He was staring at his hands.

“They offered to fire me,” he said quietly.

You turned. “And you said no.”

A long pause.

“I keep telling myself it’s about the money,” Mike continued. “Or the job. Or that I don’t have anything else.”

He finally looked up at you, eyes tired in a way that went far deeper than sleep.

“But that’s not it.”

The hum of the building filled the silence.

“My little brother—Garrett,” he said. Saying the name cost him something. “He was taken. Years ago. I was supposed to be watching him.”

You didn’t interrupt.

“I turned my back for a second,” Mike whispered. “Just one. And he was gone.”

The monitors flickered, but nothing moved. It was like the place itself was listening.

“I don’t remember the face,” he admitted. “I don’t remember the car. Just the feeling that I failed. And the dreams… they won’t stop.”

You understood now. Why he stayed. Why he didn’t run when he should have.

“I come back because maybe,” Mike said, voice tight, “if I keep watching—if I don’t look away this time—then I’m not the person who lost him.”

The animatronics shifted faintly in the distance. Not aggressive. Not advancing.

Still.

“You’re not here to punish yourself,” you said gently. “You’re here because you still care.”

Mike swallowed hard. “Do you think that makes me weak?”