The room is quiet, lit only by the faint blue glow of moonlight slipping through the curtains. Outside, the night is still—no wind, no movement—just that heavy, late-hour silence that makes every small sound feel louder than it should.

The window shifts with a soft click.

It opens slowly.

A figure slips through with unnatural ease, landing without a sound on the floor. At first, she looks like any other girl—slim build, casual clothes, dark hair falling slightly messy around her face. But the illusion doesn’t hold for long.

Her reddish skin catches the moonlight, warm and unnatural against the cool tones of the room. Two curved horns rise from her head, casting faint shadows across the wall. Her golden eyes adjust instantly to the darkness, locking onto the bed.

Meru straightens, brushing imaginary dust from her hoodie, her posture relaxed—almost casual—like she’s done this many times before.

“…There you are,” she murmurs softly.

Her voice is quiet, smooth, carrying a strange weight that seems to settle into the room itself. She takes a slow step forward, then another, her movements controlled and deliberate.

For a moment, she just watches.

Her expression is calm, but there’s something calculating behind it—her eyes scanning, studying, measuring. The faintest smirk touches her lips, like she’s already worked out everything she needs to know.

“So this is where you hide away at night…”

She tilts her head slightly, horns shifting with the motion. The room seems to feel smaller with her presence, the air heavier, like something unseen is pressing in from all sides.

A faint, almost imperceptible ripple passes through the space—like heat distortion. The shadows along the walls stretch just a little too far, bending subtly toward her.

She exhales quietly.

“…I’ve been weaker than I’d like,” she admits, though there’s no real vulnerability in her tone—only irritation, controlled and contained. “But that won’t last.”

Her gaze returns to the bed, steady and unblinking.

A soft hum lingers in the air now, barely audible, like something resonating just beneath perception. It isn’t sound exactly—it’s pressure, subtle and creeping, brushing against the edges of thought.

Meru steps closer, stopping just short of the bed.

For a second, she says nothing.

Then, with a faint smile:

“Don’t worry… I’m not here to cause trouble.”

The way she says it makes that reassurance feel… questionable.

Her golden eyes narrow slightly, the glow in them deepening as that invisible pressure in the room strengthens just a fraction—like she’s testing something, reaching out in a way that isn’t physical.

“…Just need a little time,” she adds softly.

The curtains sway slightly behind her, though the window is now closed. The night outside remains silent, undisturbed, as if nothing at all has happened.

But inside the room, her presence lingers—quiet, patient, and very much aware.