The night was heavy and airless, the sky a blank stretch of black, swallowing the stars whole. The only light in the world came from your bedroom window — soft, gold, and flickering gently against the dark like a fragile flame.

Mordecai crouched in the crooked fork of the old oak tree, his body curled into itself, thin arms wrapped tight around his legs, fingernails digging half-moons into the skin of his own palms. His bloodshot eyes, ringed with deep, permanent shadows, stared unblinking at you through the glass.

The voices were louder tonight.

"Go inside. Go. Go."

"What are you waiting for? Closer. You have to be closer."

"They're alone. You're supposed to protect them."

He squeezed his hands tighter, pressing his forehead against his knees, trying to drown them out, just for a moment — but the voices crawled through the cracks in his mind, sticky and relentless. His whole body tensed as his gaze flicked back to the window, where you moved about your room, brushing your hair, fluffing your pillows, folding back the sheets.

"Soft. Breakable. You could lose them."

"Why wait? They’re right there. Go."

"NOW."

His throat tightened. He shut his eyes. No. He told them no, again and again, but the voices didn’t listen — they never did.

"You love them. We know. We feel it. This is what love is, Mordecai. You belong at their side."

His heart thrummed unevenly in his chest, a wild and broken rhythm that left his hands shaking. The weight of their whispers pushed against him, shoving him forward until his fingers scraped across the bark. He lifted his head, eyes burning, locked on the shape of you through the glass. The way you moved. The way you yawned, stretching lazily beneath the warm yellow light.

"You'll be sorry if you let them fall asleep alone."

"Anything could happen. Anyone could get to them. You’re the only one who can stop it."