That wasn’t a glitch in the system.
And then I see something that makes my blood turn to ice… Myself.
On the bottom-right screen, the footage switches to show the exact hallway I was standing in minutes ago. I stare in horror, my heart hammering against my ribs, as I watch a grainy black-and-white version of myself reach for the door handle.
There’s a slight time delay, maybe a minute. I blink, looking from the physical door beside me back to the screen showing my past self. There’s a camera hidden somewhere in this room, and it’s capturing everything. I’m on it right now. Someone must be watching me.
But who?
The screen flickers ominously, and suddenly all sixteen monitors freeze simultaneously, locking onto a single image: a close-up of my face from moments ago, frozen mid-motion as I lean forward to study the feeds.
I push back from the desk with a harsh scrape of the chair legs against concrete, my spine going rigid with fear. The overhead lights dim just a fraction, barely noticeable, but enough to make every hair on my arms stand on end.
A small white indicator light flashes to life at the center of the control desk. Next to it, a blinking red dot appears.
Recording.
That’s when the horrifying realization hits me. I didn’t trigger this surveillance system when I walked in. Someone else already had it running. And whoever it was knew I’d come down here.
They were waiting for me.
Chapter Fourteen
LOG FOURTEEN – ETHICS WITHHELD: TODAY, MEDICINE BOWED TO POWER. AGAIN.
Now the real question is.Is it someone dead or alive?
“Fuck, Damien, if you can manipulate this technology and you’re messing with me, I will cross the Veil and kill you all over again,” I growl through clenched teeth.
But my racing pulse betrays my bravado as pure terror ricochets through my nervous system.
I glance down at the controls, desperate to get my face off the screen. My gaze flicks to the door, half expecting it to slam open.
Geez, Kat, you’ve watched way too many old horror movies.
“Watch the door for me, girl,” I murmur as Mish materializes beside it, her spectral form settling into a perfect sit, eyes locked on the handle like she’s daring it to turn.
I turn back to the monitors as they all snap to black. My stomach drops. It’s better than seeing myself, but maybe not by much.
The speakers crackle with a burst of static that rattles through the room. My head jerks up.
The voice is familiar. Irina.
She’s seated in what looks like her office, calm as ever, speaking to someone off camera. A step closer and the other figure leans into view. Rupert, the man who burned the ranch to the ground.
I go rigid, every muscle locking into place as the audio spikes, the volume rising like someone wants me to heareverything.
Rupert leans against the wall in Irina’s office, hands in his pockets like he owns the place. She’s behind her desk, appearing calm and collected.
“The Volkovs are bleeding the districts dry,” she says. “It’s all over the black markets now. More trafficking, more experiments, more of those… animals.”
My stomach twists. She says it like it’s an inconvenience, not complete savagery.
“And you’re still pretending you can’t shut it down,” Rupert says.
“Pretending is the point, Rupert.” A slow smile curves her lips. “Every day they overreach, the people get angrier. The families turn on each other. The gutter zones grow larger. When the collapse comes, no one will look to them for stability.”
I know where this conversation is going.
