I press my eyes into the darkness, searching for edges, for anything— a flicker of light, a shape, a hand reaching back. But there is nothing. The night stretches on, dense and endless, a heavy cloth draped over my lungs. I open my mouth to breathe and it feels like drinking shadows. My fingers curl at my sides. I want to tear through it, to claw at the black, to rip a hole and let something— anything— pour through. But the darkness holds. Silent. Indifferent. It does not move. It does not speak. And I realize there is no one here. No one to call my name, no one to tell me this will pass. Only the sound of my own breath, shallow and frantic, echoing in the hollow of my chest. I tell myself to stand still, but the emptiness is too loud. And for a moment, I wonder if this is it— if this is all there is. The dark. The silence. The ache of a body that wants to be found.