The city streets lay wrapped in a cloak of midnight stillness, their usual clamor hushed beneath a sky that forgot to care. Malcolm shuffled along the dimly lit sidewalk, his every step echoing against the quiet. Weeks without rest had blurred the line between what was real and what only looked that way.

As he passed a parked station wagon, something in the back seat caught his tired eyes — a still figure, faintly outlined by passing headlights. His heart jolted awake.

“Hey— is someone hurt?” he called, voice sharp in the silence.

For a second, nothing. Then a bark shattered the air. The “figure” sprang up, tail wagging — just a dog startled by a stranger’s panic.

Malcolm let out a shaky breath, half-laughing at himself. “Of course it’s a dog,” he muttered. “Why wouldn’t it be a dog?”

The world went on, utterly unfazed. He pressed a hand over his racing heart and kept walking, whispering a quiet promise to the empty street:

“I need sleep."