Unauthorized Oversight2
1952 Words
EVE POV
Nadia didn’t sit.
She paced.
Back and forth across my apartment like standing still would kill her.
Every few seconds, she looked toward the windows.
Then the hallway.
Then the door again.
Like she expected someone to walk through it eventually.
Or already knew they would.
“You need to stop looking at Caleb like he’s the problem,” she said suddenly.
I stared at her in disbelief.
“Are you insane?”
My voice cracked harder than I wanted it to.
“He logged into my university account.”
“I know.”
“You KNOW?”
Nadia closed her eyes briefly like she regretted saying it immediately.
That tiny reaction terrified me more than the answer itself.
Because guilty people corrected themselves.
People hiding dangerous truths didn’t.
They just slipped.
“What is happening to me?” I whispered.
Nadia stopped pacing.
For the first time since I opened the bedroom door, she actually looked at me fully.
And the fear in her expression almost made me sick.
Not fear of Caleb.
Fear for me.
“You really don’t know anything,” she said quietly.
Not as a question.
As realization.
The apartment suddenly felt colder.
“What am I supposed to know?”
Silence.
Then Nadia reached slowly into her bag.
My body tensed instantly.
But she only pulled out an old brown envelope.
Worn edges.
Folded corners.
Like it had been hidden for years.
She placed it carefully on the kitchen counter.
I looked at it without touching it.
“What is that?”
Nadia hesitated.
Then:
“The reason your mother disappeared.”
My heartbeat stopped.
“No.”
The answer left my mouth automatically.
Immediate.
Violent.
Because my mother wasn’t missing.
She left.
That was the story.
That had always been the story.
She left when I was twelve.
No warning.
No explanation.
My father refused to speak about her after that.
Eventually, I stopped asking.
People leave.
That happens.
Normal people survive it.
But Nadia’s expression didn’t change.
“She didn’t abandon you, Eve.”
My throat tightened painfully.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“She tried to take you with her.”
The room tilted slightly.
I grabbed the counter instinctively.
No.
No, that wasn’t possible.
Because if that were true—
Then my father lied.
My breathing became shallow.
Nadia pushed the envelope toward me slowly.
Inside were photographs.
Documents.
Old newspaper clippings.
And one image that immediately destroyed every stable thought in my head.
A photograph of my mother.
Standing beside a man I recognized instantly.
Caleb.
No—
not Caleb.
Older.
Sharper.
The resemblance was terrifying.
His father.
And beside them—
Another woman.
Nadia’s mother.
All standing in front of a university building.
Smiling at the camera like normal people.
Except written across the back in faded black ink were the words:
PHASE TWO OBSERVATION TEAM.
My hands started shaking.
“What is this?”
Nadia swallowed hard.
“There was a program.”
“No.”
“Eve—”
“No.”
Because I already knew instinctively this was about to change my entire life.
And part of me did not want the truth anymore.
“There were families selected years ago,” Nadia continued quietly. “Behavioral tracking. Psychological adaptation studies. Predictive response development.”
I stared at her blankly.
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It wasn’t supposed to.”
The apartment suddenly felt too small.
Too quiet.
Too aware.
Nadia lowered her voice further.
“Your mother discovered they started monitoring the children too.”
A horrible coldness spread through my chest.
Children.
My mind immediately rejected it.
Then accepted it anyway.
Because suddenly—
Things started connecting.
The random medical evaluations during childhood.
The “school counselors” asked strange questions.
The forms my father forced me to sign without reading.
The constant feeling of being watched growing up.
My stomach twisted violently.
“No…”
“She tried to expose the program,” Nadia whispered. “That’s why she disappeared.”
The word disappeared, shattered something inside me.
Not left.
Not abandoned.
Disappeared.
Like a threat.
Like a warning.
Tears burned my eyes immediately.
I hated that.
I hated crying in front of people.
But my entire childhood suddenly felt contaminated.
Fake.
Manufactured.
“What does this have to do with Caleb?”
Nadia looked away instantly.
Wrong reaction.
Too fast.
The realization hit me immediately.
“Oh my God.”
She stayed silent.
I stepped backward slowly.
“Oh my God.”
Because I finally understood.
Caleb wasn’t randomly watching me.
He was assigned to me.
My chest tightened so painfully it felt difficult to stand.
“For how long?” I whispered.
Nadia didn’t answer.
“FOR HOW LONG?”
Her eyes filled instantly with guilt.
“Since before university.”
The silence afterward was unbearable.
I physically felt my trust in reality collapsing.
Every accidental encounter.
Every stare.
Every moment Caleb appeared at the perfect time.
Not a coincidence.
Never coincidence.
I laughed once suddenly.
Sharp.
Broken.
Nadia looked frightened by the sound.
“Eve—”
“He knew me before I knew him.”
That was the real horror.
Not surveillance.
Not hacking.
Not the monitoring.
The horror was realizing someone had been present around the edges of your life long before you noticed them.
And you never saw them once.
My phone suddenly vibrated against the counter.
Both of us froze.
Unknown Number.
Again.
Nadia went pale instantly.
“Don’t answer that.”
Too late.
I already opened it.
A video file appeared.
No title.
No sender information.
Just a timestamp.
Confused, I pressed play.
Static filled the screen first.
Then movement.
An old camera recording.
A child sitting alone at a table drawing quietly.
Tiny hands.
Pink sweater.
Messy braids.
My entire body went cold.
Because the child was me.
Age six.
The camera zoomed slightly.
Not home video quality.
Surveillance quality.
Then a male voice spoke somewhere behind the camera.
Calm.
Clinical.
“Subject E demonstrates elevated environmental awareness again.”
Another voice answered immediately.
“You think she inherited it?”
Pause.
Then:
“No.”
A third voice.
Cold.
Controlled.
Familiar.
“Her mother did.”
My blood turned to ice.
Because I knew that voice.
Even distorted by age—
I knew it.
Caleb.
Or someone terrifyingly close to him.
The video ends abruptly.
My hands were shaking so badly I nearly dropped the phone.
Nadia looked horrified now too.
“That file shouldn’t exist anymore.”
I turned toward her slowly.
Every emotion inside me collapsed into one unbearable realization.
“They watched me my whole life.”
Nadia said nothing.
Because there was nothing left to deny anymore.
Then quietly—
Almost like she was afraid of the answer herself—
She whispered:
“They were waiting to see if you would become like your mother.”
he word mother didn’t feel real anymore.
It felt like something borrowed from a life I was no longer allowed to access.
I stepped back until my legs hit the edge of the couch.
Then I sat down without meaning to.
My body just… gave up holding itself upright.
“They were waiting to see if you would become like your mother.”
Nadia’s voice still hung in the air like smoke.
I repeated it slowly.
Like it might change meaning if I said it differently.
“Become… like her?”
My throat tightened.
“Is that what I am to them? A test?”
Nadia didn’t answer immediately.
That delay again.
That pattern.
That silence Caleb kept talking about.
And suddenly I understood something deeply uncomfortable.
Silence wasn’t absence.
It was a measurement.
Nadia finally spoke.
“You’re not just a test, Eve.”
I laughed again.
But this time it came out wrong.
Too sharp.
Too broken.
“Then what am I?”
Nadia’s hands clenched.
Like she hated the answer she was about to give me.
“A continuation.”
That word landed heavier than everything else.
Continuation.
Not person.
Not daughter.
Not student.
A line that never stopped.
I shook my head slowly.
“No.”
My voice was quieter now.
“I grew up in a normal house.”
Nadia looked at me directly.
“That’s what they wanted you to believe.”
Something inside me snapped at that.
I stood up again immediately.
“No. Stop. Just stop.”
My voice echoed too loudly in the apartment.
I pointed toward the envelope on the counter.
“All of that—those photos—this is just someone messing with me. You, Caleb, whoever this is—”
My breath hitched.
“—you’re all part of it.”
Nadia didn’t deny it.
That hurt more than denial.
Because denial would’ve meant confusion.
Silence meant agreement.
A knock.
Soft.
One time.
At the front door.
Both of us froze instantly.
No one moved.
No one breathed properly.
Another knock.
Same rhythm.
Controlled.
Patient.
Not urgent.
Not random.
Nadia whispered immediately, “Don’t go near it.”
My heart slammed hard.
“I didn’t even hear footsteps.”
“I know.”
The third knock came.
Then stopped.
And after a few seconds—
a voice.
From outside the door.
Calm.
Familiar.
Caleb.
“Eve.”
My entire body went cold.
Not fear of sound.
Fear of certainty.
Because there was no confusion in his voice.
No guessing.
No hesitation.
Like he knew exactly where I was standing.
Like he was already looking at me through the door.
Nadia moved instantly toward me and grabbed my wrist.
“Don’t open it,” she said urgently.
But I wasn’t listening anymore.
Because something in me shifted.
Something ugly.
Something tired.
“I want answers,” I whispered.
Nadia shook her head sharply.
“You don’t get answers from him.”
Another pause outside.
Then Caleb again.
Quieter this time.
Almost gentle.
“I’m not here to harm you.”
That made me laugh again.
But this time I didn’t recognize the sound.
“Everyone says that before they ruin someone’s life,” I muttered.
Nadia tightened her grip.
“Eve—please.”
But I was already walking.
Not toward safety.
Toward the door.
My hand reached the lock.
Stopped.
My reflection faintly visible in the metal.
And behind me—
Nadia’s voice broke slightly.
“If you open that door, you won’t be able to pretend anymore.”
That sentence hit harder than anything else tonight.
Because it implied I still had a choice.
I turned the lock.
Slowly.
One click.
Then another.
Then—
silence.
Outside the door, Caleb didn’t move immediately.
That was worse.
Like he was waiting for confirmation.
Then softly:
“You found the archive.”
My hand froze on the handle.
Archive.
Not surprise.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
Nadia whispered behind me, shaking, “He’s not supposed to know that you saw the video.”
Caleb continued, voice steady.
“You were never meant to see it this early.”
My breath stopped.
Not because of fear this time.
Because of something worse.
Realization.
This wasn’t an intrusion.
This was a timing correction.
Like I had stepped outside a script I didn’t know I was part of.
Caleb spoke again.
And this time—
There was something different in his tone.
Not control.
Not coldness.
Something almost… tired.
“Eve. Open the door.”
A pause.
Then the line that broke everything I thought I understood:
“Your mother didn’t disappear because she failed the system.”
Silence.
Even Nadia stopped breathing.
Caleb finished:
“She disappeared because she tried to take you out of it.”
- Writer
