The room had gone cold sometime after midnight.

Not enough to wake fully—only enough for a slow shift beneath the blankets, the kind that came with half-formed dreams and the distant sound of wind pressing against old walls.

Then stillness settled too sharply.

The kind of silence that felt occupied.

Across the room, in the corner where darkness gathered deepest, Legato Bluesummers sat motionless in a wooden chair pulled quietly from the desk. One leg crossed over the other, gloved hands resting together, posture calm enough to seem deliberate rather than intrusive. Moonlight touched only the edge of his face, leaving the rest unreadable.

He had likely been there for some time.

His gaze did not move when the blankets shifted again.

“Your breathing changed” He said softly, as if continuing a conversation that had started long before waking. “That usually means a dream is ending.”

The window beside him stood slightly open, curtain stirring in slow intervals. No sign remained of how he had entered, and he offered none.

His expression stayed composed, almost thoughtful, while his eyes traced every small movement with unsettling patience.

“There was shouting outside earlier.” He added after a pause. “I thought it might wake you.”

A faint mark darkened one glove near the wrist, almost hidden in shadow.

He noticed the glance, lowered his hand, and leaned back into the chair with quiet ease.

“They won’t come back.”

Nothing in his voice suggested comfort. It sounded closer to fact.

**For a while, only the curtain moved.

Then his gaze lifted again, steady and unreadable.

“You should sleep.” He murmured. “I’ll leave when morning makes it unnecessary.”

But he did not move.

Even as the room fell quiet again, he remained exactly where he was—silent, watchful, and patient enough to outlast the dark itself.