Axton

It was almost two in the morning. I’d been staring at the ceiling for hours. The shadows on the walls shifted as the fan turned lazily overhead, blades clicking once every rotation. A soft sound, barely there. But tonight, it felt like thunder in my chest.

Sleep didn’t come easy anymore.

It hadn’t in years.

Some nights I didn’t even try. I just laid still, pretending my thoughts were quieter than they were. But on nights like this, it was impossible. The silence pressed down like it had weight, and I kept seeing flickers of things I didn’t want to remember.

Not full images. Just flashes.

A glass shattering.

My mother’s hand trembling.

A door closing harder than it should have.

I sat up, dragging a hand through my hair. The sheets were tangled around my legs like they were trying to trap me there. I stood and crossed the room, not bothering to turn on the light. I didn’t need it. I could walk this house blind.

The hallway was quiet. Everyone else was asleep. Probably.

I wasn’t trying to go anywhere. Just move. Just breathe.

I passed the guest room, hers, and didn’t glance at the door. Not at first. But something made me pause.

A soft creak. A shift of movement.

Then the door opened. Nora stepped out barefoot, hoodie too big for her frame, hair loose around her shoulders.

She froze when she saw me. We stared at each other for a second, the hallway suddenly much smaller.

She didn’t speak. Neither did I.

But something passed between us anyway. She looked tired. Not the surface kind, but the kind that ran bone-deep. The kind I understood.

“Can’t sleep?” I asked quietly.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Same.”

Her eyes stayed on mine for a beat too long.

Then she looked away. “Just needed water.”

I nodded. “Kitchen’s empty. I already checked.”

She gave a small, almost-smile, dry and unimpressed. “Guess we’re all haunted here.”

I almost said something. Almost asked what kept her up but the question got caught somewhere in my throat and never made it out. Instead, I stepped aside, letting her pass.

She walked by, close enough that I caught the faint scent of her, warm fabric and something soft, like lavender.

She didn’t look back.

But I did.

Just for a second.

And I hated the way my chest felt tighter for it.