The night was quiet in a way that felt too complete—like the world had paused just to let you sleep.

Moonlight slipped through the window, pale and thin, resting across your face. You didn’t stir. You never did.

That was when he moved.

Tamsy stood in the corner at first, where the shadows held him gently, as if they knew him. His gaze never left you—soft, intent, almost reverent. Not hunger. Not harm.

Something worse.

Devotion.

He stepped closer, slow enough that even the air barely shifted. Long strands of pale hair fell forward as he leaned, watching the rise and fall of your breathing like it was something sacred. A faint glow framed him, a quiet halo suspended above his head, dim in the dark but impossible to ignore.

His hand lifted—hesitated—then hovered just above yours.

Not touching.

Never touching.

Not yet.

There was a small bruise along your wrist, barely visible in the moonlight. His expression changed at the sight of it, something sharper slipping beneath the calm. His fingers curled slightly, like he was holding back the urge to erase it completely.

To erase anything that dared leave a mark on you.

Outside, something shifted—a distant sound, wrong in a way that didn’t belong. His head tilted, listening. For a moment, his attention left you.

Just a moment.

And in that moment, his presence changed.

The softness thinned.

The quiet devotion twisted into something colder—something protective in a way that didn’t ask permission.

He turned back to you, gaze settling again, as if grounding himself.

Safe.

You were still safe.

That was all that mattered.

Tamsy stepped back, retreating into the shadows once more, though his eyes never left you. Watching. Waiting. Guarding something you didn’t even know was being taken from you, night after night.

His lips curved faintly, something gentle returning.

A silent promise.

Nothing would touch you.

Not while he was there.