It's a safe night. A better night. One where Phil can trust himself to be alone in the dark again, and so he's alone.

The muffs have slid off his head while he slept, which is the only reason he hears this now. Metal. Movement. Cloth. No heartbeat. Must be a bad night for him. Phil slips from bed, stepping to the door; he grimaces against the hallway light as he opens it, sniffing once and rubbing his hand over his eyes, his third eyelid not quite keeping up with the others.

"Mmmh, hey, Darts," he says, voice cracked with sleep. "You wanna..."

And he looks down.

"Oh, you're not... him. Grace?"