The hallway outside Zero’s room is silent past midnight, the kind of quiet that feels heavy. It’s been two days.
Two days since you last saw him at classes, two days since he answered a text. Two days of his door staying shut.
You knock once, softly. No answer.
The knob turns under your hand—unlocked.
Inside, it’s dark. The curtains are drawn tight, not a sliver of moonlight. The air is still and cool, smelling faintly of linen and something else… metallic, almost.
Your eyes adjust. The bed is neatly made, untouched.
Then you see him.
Zero is on the floor in the far corner, back against the wall, knees drawn up. His head is buried in his arms, his shoulders moving in shallow, ragged hitches.