A Dance with Danger

Chapter Forty-Six

**Estelle’s POV**

I woke up feeling dehydrated, the dryness in my throat making me groggy as I tried to sit up. I glanced over at Tiberius, still asleep beside me, his arm wrapped loosely around my waist. I carefully removed his arm, wincing as it shifted in his sleep, but I managed to slip out of bed without disturbing him. The coolness of the night air hit my skin as I padded barefoot across the room, my bedroom slippers forgotten by the door.

My throat was sore, the aftermath of a restless sleep. I reached for my water bottle, but to my frustration, it was empty. A soft sigh escaped me. Of course, it had run out. I had half a mind to just curl back into bed and let the dehydration pass, but my body refused to ignore the need for water.

With a resigned sigh, I grabbed my empty bottle and made my way to the kitchen, my bare feet whispering against the hardwood floor as I shuffled through the darkened hallway. The house was silent—too silent. The only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the house settling. It was the quiet I had come to appreciate, but tonight it felt a little more oppressive, like the calm before a storm.

I reached the kitchen and flicked on the light. The sharp brightness of the fluorescent bulb hurt my eyes for a moment before they adjusted. I opened the cupboard, grabbed a bottle of water, and filled my empty one. The cool liquid sloshed into the plastic, and I couldn’t help but take a long, satisfying sip, feeling the refreshing chill slide down my throat.

As I replaced the cap, I glanced out the kitchen window. The backyard was dark, the trees swaying gently in the breeze. Nothing out of the ordinary. I had always found the night calming, but now, as I stood there, a subtle unease curled in my stomach.

I turned away from the window and took a few more steps toward the door, planning to head back to bed. But something stopped me.

A shadow.

In the corner of my eye, I spotted a figure—just a silhouette, barely visible against the darkness outside. I froze. My heart skipped a beat as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. The figure was standing just beyond the edge of the yard, partially hidden by the trees, but there was no mistaking that it was a person.

I blinked rapidly, trying to convince myself that I was imagining things, that it was just a trick of the shadows. But the longer I stared, the clearer the figure became. It didn’t move. It didn’t blink. It just stood there, watching.

My pulse quickened, the water bottle growing heavier in my hand as the dread sank deeper into my bones. I had to look away. I had to ignore it.

But the urge to confront it, to figure out who was out there, made my feet freeze to the spot. I was suddenly acutely aware of how vulnerable I was—alone in the kitchen in nothing but my nightclothes, the house empty of any real protection.

I held my breath and slowly lowered the bottle. The chill of the glass against my palm grounded me, but it also reminded me how completely out of place I felt in the quiet of the night. My instincts screamed at me to move, to close the blinds and retreat back into the safety of my room. But something inside me refused to let go of the need to understand what was going on.

I couldn’t just walk away and pretend I hadn’t seen it. Not after feeling that presence—that weight of someone watching, waiting.

With a final glance at the figure, I made up my mind. I was going to leave. I would pretend like I hadn’t seen anything, like the figure wasn’t there, but deep down, I knew better. My feet moved in slow, deliberate steps, but as I turned to walk toward the door, my gaze flickered back to the window.

The figure hadn’t moved. But I swore, just for a second, the air around me felt colder, heavier. It was like the darkness outside had become more suffocating, pressing in on me.

I couldn’t explain it. I didn’t want to try. I turned away and stepped back into the hallway, the tension in my shoulders making every step feel like I was moving through thick fog. The house seemed more ominous now, its familiar layout suddenly feeling too large, too empty.

As I moved toward the bedroom, the feeling didn’t go away. It lingered, a cold shiver tracing up my spine. My skin prickled, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. My stomach churned as I reached for the door handle to my room. I glanced over my shoulder one more time.

Nothing.

The backyard was still, as though nothing had ever been there. I exhaled in relief, trying to convince myself that I had imagined it all.

But the uneasy sensation clung to me like a second skin.

I entered the bedroom, closing the door behind me with a soft click. Tiberius was still asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily. The warmth of his body against the coolness of the sheets should have comforted me, but instead, my mind kept racing. My pulse still hadn’t settled. I took a slow breath, willing myself to calm down, but the sense of being watched didn’t dissipate. It was as if I could feel the presence lingering just outside the door, like something unseen was waiting for the right moment to strike.

I placed my water bottle on the nightstand and climbed back into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. Tiberius stirred slightly, his arm naturally reaching for me as he shifted closer. I stiffened, his presence offering some comfort, but the weight in my chest didn’t go away.

“Estelle?” His voice was rough with sleep, but his hand gently cupped my cheek, bringing my face toward his.

“I’m fine,” I whispered, not wanting to worry him, but my voice felt too thin, too shaky. I leaned into his touch, allowing the warmth of his body to settle me slightly, but the lingering sense of fear didn’t leave.

Tiberius’s brow furrowed slightly, his eyes still closed as he rubbed his thumb over my skin. “Are you sure? You feel... tense.”

“I’m just... thirsty,” I lied, the words leaving my lips too quickly. “Just a bad dream, I guess.”

His lips pressed to my forehead in that comforting, familiar way. “Go back to sleep. I’ve got you.”

And I tried. I really did. I closed my eyes and focused on the rhythmic sound of Tiberius’s breathing, allowing it to lull me into a sense of safety.

But the darkness outside, the presence that had stood in the yard, still clung to me. It was as if the moment I had spotted the figure, something had shifted. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t alone.

It wasn’t just the figure. It wasn’t just the fear. It was something deeper. Something that gnawed at me from the inside.

I couldn’t let it go.

Not now. Not after seeing the way the figure stood—still, unmoving. Watching.

I wasn’t sure if it was a person or something else entirely. But the unsettling thought that someone—or something—was out there, waiting for me, wouldn’t let me rest.

Tiberius stirred again in his sleep, pulling me closer, and I clung to him, feeling his heartbeat against mine. It wasn’t enough to erase the feeling of eyes on me, following me, lingering in the shadows of the night.

As I finally drifted into an uneasy sleep, I knew one thing for certain: something was out there. And no matter how much I wanted to pretend otherwise, it was watching me.