Oliver didn't sleep.
Not really.
He drifted in and out of a shallow haze, the room too loud, too sharp, too alive for rest. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt something… watching. Not with human eyes. Not with shape or breath.
A pressure.
A presence.
A weight against the edges of his mind.
Like the night itself had started paying attention.
When dawn finally scraped its weak light across the window, Oliver felt worse—not safer. His skin itched. His bones vibrated. His vision kept sliding in and out of focus, as though the world had gained too many layers.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his temples.
Endure, the silver-haired man had said.
Oliver wasn't sure he could.
And worse—he wasn't sure what would happen if he couldn't.
He stood, meaning to close the curtains, but the moment he touched the fabric, pain shot through his palm—sharp and burning.
He jerked back.
A faint red mark sizzled across his skin, fading as quickly as it came.
"What the…?" Oliver whispered.
Light.
It hurt.
Daylight.
His stomach twisted.
Not yet, he thought desperately. Please not yet.
He backed away from the window like it was a loaded weapon pointed at him. His breath hitched, too shallow, too fast. The sunlight was thin and harmless—yet his body wanted to recoil like an animal from fire.
A knock shattered the quiet.
Three sharp taps.
Oliver froze.
Another knock. Slower. Intentional.
He forced his breathing steady and approached the door, every nerve screaming. His hand hovered over the knob.
"Oliver?" A familiar voice.
He exhaled hard, knees nearly giving out.
"Dad?"
He opened the door.
His father stood there, a travel mug in hand, already in his uniform. He frowned the moment he saw Oliver.
"You look like you haven't slept in days."
Oliver forced a smile. "Didn't sleep well."
Understatement of the century.
His father stepped inside, eyeing the dark circles under his eyes, the pale tint to his skin… the drawn curtains.
"You sick?" he asked.
"No. Just tired."
Oliver lied too quickly.
His father's attention drifted toward the window. "Why's it so dark in here?"
"I was studying late."
"Mm." The kind of skeptical sound only a parent could make.
Oliver stepped into his path subtly, blocking the view.
His father sighed. "Look, I'm heading to work. I'll be home late. Call if you need anything."
Oliver nodded.
His father reached out, ruffling his hair like he used to when Oliver was little.
But the moment his hand touched Oliver's scalp—
Oliver flinched.
Hard.
He didn't mean to. He didn't want to. It just happened—instinct, sharp and defensive, like something inside him panicked.
His father blinked, hurt flickering across his face. "Sorry. Didn't think that would bother you."
"It's fine," Oliver said quickly. "I'm just jumpy."
"Yeah… I can see that."
He hesitated. "Whatever's going on, you can talk to me, you know."
Oliver swallowed.
If he said it—if he confessed even a fraction of the truth—his father would think he'd lost his mind. Or worse… he'd start looking for answers in the wrong places.
Answers Oliver suspected were watching him already.
"I'm okay," Oliver said, forcing another smile. "Really."
His father didn't look convinced, but he squeezed Oliver's shoulder gently and headed down the hall.
"Don't skip school," he called.
Oliver almost laughed. School. As if any part of his life was normal enough for that anymore.
The front door closed a few moments later.
Silence flooded back in.
Except… it wasn't silence.
Oliver could hear things he shouldn't.
An argument two houses down.
A dog barking three blocks away.
The hum of electricity in the walls.
His neighbor's heartbeat—steady, rhythmic, human.
His own heartbeat threaded between them.
Uneven.
Changing.
Oliver gripped the edge of his desk hard enough that the wood creaked.
I'm turning.
Saying it in his mind made it too real.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the world back into the shape it used to have. But the more he tried, the more it fought him—like reality itself rejected him, pushing him toward a different version of existence.
A soft scratch came from the window.
Not loud.
Not human.
Oliver snapped his head toward it.
The curtains shifted.
Not from wind.
From movement.
Slow, deliberate movement.
His pulse spiked—then stopped entirely when a pale fingertip curled around the edge of the curtain, dragging it open just an inch.
Moonlight wasn't there.
Daylight burned against the glass.
Yet the finger didn't blister.
Didn't smoke.
Didn't retreat.
A voice drifted through the window, muffled but unmistakably amused.
"You're awake early… little nightborn."
Oliver stumbled back, throat tightening.
Another voice—silkier, older—joined the first.
"Curious. The sun doesn't bother him yet."
And then—
A third voice.
Soft. Cold. Familiar.
Her.
"He's adapting quickly."
Even muffled through glass, her presence hit him like a force.
Like gravity bending around a star.
The noble.
She was outside.
In daylight.
Oliver's breath froze in his chest.
The curtain shifted again, opening wider.
A shadow passed by the window—too tall, too elegant, too wrong.
Then her voice again, closer this time:
"Open the window, Oliver."
He shook his head wildly.
"No."
Silence.
Then, the faintest laugh—soft, amused, ancient.
"You will."
His skin prickled. Not from fear—something else. Some subtle tug beneath his ribs. Like the first thread of a bond tightening.
The curtain fluttered not from breeze—but intention.
Oliver felt it.
Felt her.
Felt the cold of the night reaching through the heat of the sun.
The noble whispered one final thing through the glass—gentle as a promise, sharp as a blade:
"The others will come for you before I do. You must be ready."
Oliver's mouth went dry. "Others?"
Her shadow paused.
"Not my retainers."
A beat of silence.
"My rivals."
The temperature in his room plummeted.
Something shifted behind her voice—movement, distant but fast, like wings or claws scraping stone. The kind of sound that didn't belong anywhere near daylight.
A fingertip tapped the glass once.
A warning.
A claim.
A threat.
"Endure, Oliver," she murmured. "Or be taken."
And then—
Every sound cut off.
The presence vanished.
The curtain stilled.
Oliver stood trembling in the sudden stillness… completely alone.
Except he wasn't.
Not anymore.
The night had found him.
And now the day had too.