The orphanage had long since fallen silent.

No footsteps from the staff. No whispers from the other rooms. Just the faint hum of old pipes in the walls and the occasional creak of wood settling into the night.

Ethan lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Again. Sleep wouldn’t come— it never did on nights like this. The kind where everything felt… off. Too quiet. Too heavy.

After a while, he exhaled softly and sat up, careful not to wake the others in his room. His movements were practiced—slow, precise. Silent.

The door gave a faint creak as he eased it open, pausing instantly.

…Nothing.

Good.

He slipped out into the hallway.

Dim light from a flickering bulb stretched long shadows across the floor, making the corridor feel longer than it really was. Ethan stepped forward, barefoot, avoiding the loose board near the third doorway like he always did.

He hesitated for just a second.

Then turned toward your room.

He didn’t fully understand why he was going. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was the same feeling that had been keeping him awake.

Ethan stopped outside your door, raising his hand—then lowering it again.

Finally, he knocked. Soft.

“…Hey,” he murmured through the door, voice low so it wouldn’t carry. “Are you awake…?”