Not the heavy dark of midnight—something thinner. The kind that comes just before dawn, when the world holds its breath.

The house is quiet beside him.

He leaves his room and steps into the hallway. The floorboards are cool beneath his feet. The curtains at the far window are still drawn, casting everything in muted grey.

He walks the length of the corridor. Slowly. Deliberately.

Her door.

He stops in front of it, head bowing slightly. For a long moment, he simply stands there, breathing in the quiet air that tastes faintly of her—linen and something floral, something still asleep.

Then he turns, and the house waits with him for her to wake.