Atlanta, Georgia – 1:17 AM


Talia sprinted up the basement stairs two at a time, barefoot and breathless, gripping the flashlight like a weapon. Her heart pounded so hard it shook her ribs. She could still see it—the man hovering over Simone, blade in hand.


“Simone!” she screamed as she hit the top step. “Simone, wake up!”


No answer.


She threw herself through the hallway, rounded the corner, and burst into the guest room.


Simone sat upright, pistol aimed at the door, wide awake.


“Back up!” Simone shouted instinctively, eyes wild. Then recognition dawned. “Talia?”


Talia rushed to her. “There was a man in here! On the camera! I saw him—he was standing over you!”


Simone looked around the room, breath heaving. “There’s no one here.”


But something was off. The closet door was slightly open. The curtains shifted, though the window was sealed shut. A faint whiff of something sharp, metallic.


Simone crossed the room in three quick strides and flung the closet open.


Empty.


Talia moved to the window and checked the locks.


Still secure.


They searched the house from top to bottom, but found no intruder. Still, the surveillance footage didn’t lie.


“Your house has holes,” Simone finally said, pacing the kitchen. “Cameras in every room? Hidden doors? Marcus is watching you, Talia. He built this place with secrets.”


Talia nodded slowly. “I found files in the basement. About me. About Isaiah Reed. About a cover-up. Simone… Marcus might’ve killed him.”


Simone blinked. “Then we need to go to the police—”


“No,” Talia said sharply. “The message said not to. Said not to trust anyone. And I don’t know who else is in this. Kenyatta. Maybe more.”


Simone chewed her lip, thinking. “Then we expose them. You’re an architect. You have the blueprints to this house, right?”


Talia's eyes widened.


“Yes. Upstairs. The original drafts. If Marcus built surveillance into this house, it would show in the plans.”


They ran upstairs together, back to her office. Talia opened her blueprint drawer and unfurled the master plans.


She scanned the layout—walls, rooms, utilities…


There. Tiny symbols. Unmarked passages. Shafts and hidden ducts that weren’t in the final construction permit.


He had designed crawlspaces and access tunnels within the walls.


“That’s how he’s moving through the house,” Simone whispered. “That’s how he got in here. That’s how he watches.”


And then they heard it.


A whisper. Faint.


Muffled.


Coming from inside the walls.


Simone raised her pistol. Talia reached for her phone. But neither of them moved.


The whisper came again.


And this time, it spoke Talia’s name.