You were just beginning to drift, wrapped in blankets that still held the faint chill of the night air, when you heard it. A knock. Soft. Precise. Almost hesitant.

Three quiet taps against your door.

Before you could fully sit up, the handle turned. The door opened just enough to let a figure slip inside, closing it carefully behind him with a muted click.

Even in the dim light, you recognized him instantly. Mattheo Riddle. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, as though he’d run a hand through it one too many times. His expression wasn’t smug or sharp or guarded the way it so often was in the daylight. Instead, there was something tense in it — something unsettled.