Nikolai POV
Sleep had become an inconvenience tonight.
Rest didn’t evade me out of physical discomfort or nightmares, but out of sheer mental insistence; my mind, stubborn as ever, had apparently decided the middle of the night was the perfect time to revisit conversations that no longer required analysis, to replay words and tones, to scrutinize silences and what might have been hidden between them.
Each memory returned with sharper edges in the dark, refusing to be filed away.
I opened my eyes at five twenty-three, instinctively checking the time with the certainty of someone who rarely needed an alarm.
The room was silent, the sort of silence that felt almost heavy, pressing in along the walls and tucking itself into every corner.
Dark shadows, too, clung to the edges of the
