The Little Palace always felt different at night — quieter, colder, the endless halls echoing with your own footsteps.

Sleep hadn’t come again. Every time you drifted close, the nightmares pulled you back under — faceless shadows, blinding light, the sound of your own heartbeat pounding too fast. You’d tried tea, breathing, pacing your room. Nothing helped.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of the Darkling’s chambers.

Your hand hesitated at the door, but the thought of going back to your own bed made your chest tighten. So you knocked — soft, but enough to carry in the stillness of the corridor.

“Come in, Ivan,” came the low reply from inside.

You pushed the door open, stepping in just enough for the lamplight to spill over you. The Darkling was bent over his desk, his black kefta hung over the back of his chair; his sleeves were rolled to his forearms, hand moving across a map with precise, deliberate strokes of ink. Several sealed letters sat in neat stacks beside him.

When he finally glanced up, his eyes landed on you — and the faint crease between his brows deepened. “You’re not Ivan.”

“I can go,” you said quickly, already half-turning toward the door.

“Stay,” he said, almost absently, before returning his gaze to the map. “You wouldn’t be here at this hour without reason.”

You stepped inside fully, closing the door behind you. “I… can’t sleep.”

His pen paused for a fraction of a second. “Nightmares?”

You nodded.

He didn’t comment further, just gestured toward the empty chair across from him. “Sit. I have work to finish.”

You obeyed, lowering yourself into the chair. For a while, the only sounds were the soft scratch of his pen and the occasional rustle of paper. Every so often, you caught his eyes flicking toward you, measuring, assessing, but never dismissing you.

He didn’t ask for details. He didn’t tell you to be stronger or to go back to bed. He simply let you stay, the warm lamplight and steady rhythm of his work slowly easing the tightness in your chest.

By the time you realized your eyes were closing, you were leaning back in the chair, the sound of his voice faint in the distance.

“You can sleep here,” he said quietly, not looking up from his work. “I won’t send you away.”