It should’ve felt peaceful. But peace was unfamiliar. And unfamiliar still felt dangerous.
***
I woke without knowing why. There was no sound, no nightmare, to cause my eyes to flash open in the dark.
The room was still, not a single soul other than myself.
I lay there for a moment, listening and half expecting footsteps in the hall, the creak of a door, the distant echo of someone crying.
There was just silence.
I sat up slowly, blanket slipping from my shoulders. The bracelet on my wrist caught the moonlight, a dull glint that made my stomach twist.
I rubbed at it absently, not trying to remove it this time, just trying to forget it was there.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, feet touching the cool floor. I didn’t know if I was allowed to leave the room, but no one had told me I couldn’t. And that was almost worse.
I stood, walked to the door, and opened it just enough to see the hallway—empty, dim, still. I didn’t step out. Just stood there. Waiting for something to tell me what to do.
But nothing came.
Just quiet. And the soft, steady beat of my own heart.
Being out of bed during the night hours, unless it was to use the restroom, would be an instant punishment. Was here the same?
“Charles?”
I jerked, the door hitting my foot at the movement. My eyes glanced up at Alpha Harris, only to return back to the floor half a second later.
“Are you okay?”
No, not by a long shot. Instead of answering, I backed up a bit, fear starting to creep in through the dark quiet.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
“S-sorry to bother you, Sir.” My words were quiet, yet felt louder than they were.
“You aren’t a bother. I was about to make some warm milk. Would you like to join me?”
Warm milk?
“Sure, Sir.”
I’d never had milk warm before. Unless it was stirred into something—soup, oats, a sauce. But just to drink it, plain and heated? It felt strange.
Still, I was grateful for the excuse. Anything to avoid lying in bed, tangled in thoughts I couldn’t quiet.
“Come on then.” He tilted his head toward the stairs before turning to walk.
I followed, slower. Each step felt uncertain, like I was trespassing in a space I’d been told was mine but hadn’t earned.
The hallway was dim, quiet. It felt like I was breaking a rule just by being out here. The same feeling I used to get after leaving a client’s room—walking back to mine room with sore limbs and a hollow chest, hoping no one stopped me, hoping no one noticed.
But Alpha Harris didn’t look back. Didn’t question my presence. And somehow, that made the silence feel less like punishment but more like possibility.
The kitchen was dim, lit only by the under-cabinet lights. I hovered near the doorway, not stepping in fully.
Alpha Harris didn’t comment. He just moved to the stove, poured milk into a small pot, and set it to warm. Like he’d done it often enough he could do it all with his eyes closed.
