I didn’t sleep.
Not because of fear—but because the house wouldn’t let me.
There was a rhythm to it, once I listened closely. A faint mechanical pulse beneath the silence. Security systems cycling. Cameras recalibrating. Doors communicating with one another in a language humans weren’t meant to hear.
Alexander’s house had always been intelligent.
Tonight, it was alert.
I lay still in the guest bed, one hand resting on my stomach, the other beneath the pillow where my phone lay dark and silent. I had muted everything except one contact.
If it vibrated, I would know the clock had accelerated.
The door down the hall opened.
I didn’t move.
Footsteps crossed the carpet slowly, deliberately. Not sneaking. Not hesitant.
Certain.
The door to my room didn’t open.
Instead, the footsteps
