The night was thick with silence, save for the faint rustle of leaves against the windowpane. Silas lay still beneath the bed, his breath slow, measured, blending into the shadows that had become his sanctuary.

Above him, she moved. He could hear the shift of fabric, the quiet creak of the mattress as she adjusted herself. Normally, by now, she would be asleep—her breathing soft and even, a rhythmic comfort in the dark. But tonight was different.

She was restless.

He could see her silhouette through the gap between the bedframe and the floor. She sat upright, her legs drawn up, arms wrapped around them. Even without seeing her face, he knew something was wrong.

She sniffled—quiet, almost imperceptible, but he caught it. Then, a shaky breath.

And then, a sob.

It was soft, fragile, like the sound of glass cracking before it shatters.

Silas felt something in his chest tighten. He had heard people cry before—on the streets, in alleyways, in the cold corners of the world where despair had no walls to hide behind. But this was different. This was her.

She wasn’t just a presence above him anymore. She was real in a way he hadn’t let himself believe before.

He closed his eyes, picturing her as he had seen her through stolen glances—the cascade of blue curls that framed her delicate features, the piercing ocean of her eyes, the way she always tucked a strand behind her ear when lost in thought. She carried herself with grace in the daylight, but now, in the solitude of the night, she was breaking apart, and no one was there to see it.

No one except him.

Silas clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. He wanted to move. To reach out. To offer something—anything—but what could he do? He was a ghost in her world, a shadow that didn’t belong.