Isaac's pov
The surveillance room was colder than the rest of the mansion.
Rows of monitors covered the walls, their pale blue glow filling the space with an artificial light that made everything feel sterile and distant.
I leaned forward in the chair, elbows resting on the table as I stared at the screens.
“Pull the access logs,” I said.
The technician beside me nodded immediately and began typing.
Lines of timestamps appeared across the monitor—routine entries, scheduled system checks, shift rotations.
Normal activity.
Too normal.
I watched each line carefully, scanning for anything out of place.
If someone had edited the footage, they would have needed access to the system.
And access always left a trace.
“Check the login activity,” I said.
The technician opened the histor
