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Corners breathed.

Shaking, my hand snaked out, feeling on top of the nightstand for my phone.

There was only one place I ever put it while I slept. It was my second alarm, and I plugged it in to charge.

Right here. Right where my hand was feeling.

But there was nothing there.

Nothing at all.

My breath stuttered in and out.

And it came again.

Snap.

This time not in the bathroom.

In the room. With me.

I stopped breathing entirely.

There had to be an explanation.

One that wasn’t terrifying.

Clayton was messing with me. That was it.

Even the thought calmed me, though not enough to erase the fear.

The thought was more of a hope, and my feelings did not follow that hope’s path.

My feelings stayed in sync with my utter certainty that I should stay afraid.

“Clayton,” I said quietly.

Nothing. Except that it came again.

Snap.

If it was him, I was going to kill him for this.

But I never actually thought it was. Clayton was fun.

A prankster. A menace when inspiration struck.

But he had never done anything like this.

And he knew better than anyone that sneaking around my house in the dead of night could get you shot.

Our dads practically shared a brain. Clayton knew exactly how paranoid mine was.

“Wh-who’s there?” I asked.

No answer. I hadn’t expected one. Silence filled the room again.

The air conditioner had cycled off. The house had gone still between its ordinary noises.