It was four in the dead of night, the world outside was silent, but Ashton’s mind raced. The dim glow of the laptop screen illuminated his face, highlighting the tension etched into every feature. A vape hung loosely from his fingers, its bitter smoke curling lazily around him. His hair was a wild, tangled mess, and his bloodshot eyes were locked on the screen that showed Jackson, hunched and muttering, confined in the cellar. For days, Ashton had watched him and scrutinized every movement, yet a knot of unease had begun to tighten in his chest. Something wasn’t right.
He rewound the footage for what felt like the hundredth time, playing it again, and again, and again. Jackson was pacing, just as he had been for weeks, muttering to himself, scratching at the cold, damp walls, or curling i
