Behind the fence, the shapes waited. Dozens of them. Silent. Unblinking. Not alive, not gone, something in between, the kind of presence that made the back of her mind tighten. They didn’t frighten her. Fear would have been cleaner. They felt more like reminders of nights she never asked for, the ones where her thoughts crowded around her the same way, blank-faced and relentless. She pressed her forehead against her arm. The exhaustion had teeth now. It bit down behind her eyes, sharp and steady. No sleep came. It hadn’t come for days. Her nerves thrummed like wires on the verge of snapping. The sword beside her leaned like a tired companion. If anyone thought she kept it for protection, they were wrong. It was there to stop her from drifting too far into the inside noise. Because the worst part wasn’t the world outside the fence. The worst part was the world inside her skull, buzzing, crawling, refusing to dim. Thoughts slammed into each other. Light felt violent. Sounds took shape and pressed against her like ghosts with warm breath. Even her heartbeat felt too loud. So she retreated the only way she still knew how. Into the place she built with her own hands. Ink. Color. Lines that obeyed her and nothing else. A room without voices. She pictured it now in the dark behind her closed eyes, letting it swallow the static for a moment. That fragile room was her last barricade, but it held. It always held, even when she didn’t. Out there, the figures kept watching. In here, she breathed. Not peace. Not comfort. Just survival. And for tonight, that was enough.