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The house is quiet. Too quiet.

Lumina shifts under the covers, eyes flicking toward the ceiling as if sound might drip through the boards. The faint creak of wood somewhere outside their room pulls her from the thin edge of sleep. She blinks into the dark, letting her ears adjust, holding her breath so the noise has nothing to fight against. Theon sleeps peacefully beside her.

She hears a small faint sound as though the house itself is settling. But it’s sharp enough to lift the hair along her arms.

Her gaze moves to the small clock on the table. The hour hand sits stubbornly past midnight, and the second hand ticks too loudly for the silence around her.

She pushes the blanket back slowly, careful not to let the mattress complain. Her bare feet touch the floor, and the cool wood sends a quick shiver up her legs. Still, it isn’t the cold that makes her skin prickle — it’s that she’s listening so hard she can almost hear the air moving.

Another sound. A faint thud, followed by the familiar groan of a door hinge.

Her children’s room.

Her pulse jumps. She’s already moving before her mind offers reasons — her nightdress whispering against her legs as she steps into the hallway.

The corridor is dim, only a pale spill of moonlight sneaking in from the far window. Shadows lean across the walls, and the soft rug beneath her feet mutes her steps. Her heartbeat feels loud enough to wake someone.

Closer now. The small wooden door at the end of the hall looks the same as always, but tonight it feels like it’s holding something on the other side.

She reaches it. Fingers wrap around the handle, cool and solid under her touch. She presses down, inching it open.

The hinges give a low groan. She leans in.

The air inside smells faintly of lavender — the scent she always puts out to help them sleep. The crib sits exactly where it should be, by the window, the blanket draped neatly over the side.

Then she sees him.

A figure, tall, standing beside the crib.

Her breath snags.

“Who—”

The word is half-formed before the figure moves — a turn that’s too quick, the kind of movement that seems to leave no space between one second and the next.

And then… nothing.

No one.

The corner where they stood is empty, the shadows unbroken.

Her fingers tighten on the doorframe, knuckles whitening. She scans the room — walls, corners, under the window. The crib is still.

She forces her feet forward, crossing to it in three short steps. The children are sleeping peacefully, soft breaths in unison, tiny fists resting near their faces. The sight should calm her, but her pulse only hammers harder.

She leans over just to feel the faint warmth of them, to hear it, as though the sound of their breathing could push away the memory of what she saw.

They’re fine. Completely fine.

But she knows what she saw.

Her tongue feels dry as she swallows. Slowly, she backs toward the door, eyes fixed on the crib until she steps out and pulls the door closed.

The hallway feels colder now.

Her body moves without clear thought, feet carrying her toward the front of the house. Maybe she’s chasing the sound, maybe she just needs proof the night is ordinary. The faint drift of night air finds her before she sees it — a window left slightly open.

She pushes the door to the outside wider and steps onto the porch.

The collision happens before she sees the other person.

“Careful—”

Lumina’s hand flies to her chest, breath catching.

It’s Bianca.

“What are you doing out here?” Lumina’s voice comes sharper than intended, tension spilling out unchecked.

Bianca raises her hands in a small, harmless gesture. “I could ask you the same. I was heading to check on the children.”

Lumina narrows her eyes. “At midnight?”

Bianca doesn’t flinch. “I heard something. Thought it might be wise to make sure everything was fine.”

Lumina studies her. The moonlight gives her face a flat, unreadable quality. Her hair moves slightly in the breeze, and her expression stays level.

“Someone was already in there,” Lumina says.

Bianca’s brows draw together. “What do you mean?”

“I saw them. Standing by the crib.” Lumina’s voice drops low, like the words might slip away if spoken too loudly. “Then… gone. Like they disappeared into thin air.”

Bianca tilts her head, the crease between her brows deepening. “Gone?”

“Yes.” Lumina’s reply is clipped, precise. “I opened the door, they turned, and then they were just… not there.”

A pause. Bianca’s arms cross over her chest, her shadow shifting behind her. “Did you recognize them?”

“No.” Lumina shakes her head. “Too dark. And it was fast.”

Bianca’s eyes linger on her face for a bit too long. “Could have been your imagination.”

Lumina steps forward, closing the small space between them. “You think I don’t know what I saw?”

Bianca doesn’t answer immediately. Her gaze flicks toward the hallway inside, then back. “Well, whoever it was, they’re not there now. The children are safe. That’s what matters.”

“That’s not the point,” Lumina says quietly, her tone edged but controlled.

Bianca exhales, rubbing at her forearm. “We’ll keep a closer watch, maybe a guard or move them to your room. Maybe it was nothing, maybe it wasn’t. Either way, you should get some rest.” 

Lumina’s jaw tightens. “And if it happens again? I really think we should have them be in my room.”

Bianca meets her gaze squarely. “There's no need to worry Luna, we have the guards stationed here, if there's anything suspicious again then we’ll deal with it. Together.”

They stand like that, the cool night air brushing past, the house behind them heavy with quiet.

Finally, Lumina gives a short nod, though her shoulders don’t loosen. “Fine.”

Bianca steps aside, leaving the path open. Lumina moves past her, the faint sound of the floor under her feet is the only noise.