I unlock it. The click is loud—too loud in the silence.
I just want a drink. Enough to empty my mind. Enough to sleep.
I open the door. Step out.
And freeze.
Silas stands in front of me.
The hallway is dim—lit by a strip of recessed lighting along the ceiling, casting a soft, controlled glow across polished marble floors. The light reflects faintly against glass and metal, clean surfaces untouched by clutter.
Everything is still. Too still. The kind of silence that feels designed.
Our eyes meet.
His brown hair is slightly mussed—not careless, just enough to show he's been here for hours. Waiting. Still. A few strands fall across his forehead, catching the light. I notice how soft they look.
How… human.
I stare at him.
It's been three hours. Maybe longer.
And he's still here.
Like a statue carved from silence, placed outside my door.
A notebook clutched against his chest like a shield. A pencil resting between his fingers.
