Olivia didn't move.
The two red dots stayed there, fixed, unblinking—staring straight into her soul. For a moment, her brain forgot logic, forgot training, forgot everything except one truth: she was being watched.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
Then, with a jolt of clarity, she snapped out of it.
"wait ... This isn't a some cliché horror movie," she muttered under her breath. "It's real life. And in real life, I'm not dying of something stupid."
She spun toward the power panel and slammed the main switch back on.
Light flooded the apartment, cutting through the darkness like a lifeline.
Everything came alive again—the hum of the fridge, the tick of the clock, the faint buzz of her laptop restarting.
Olivia stood there, her chest heaving, eyes darting across every corner of the room. No intruder. No movement. No monster waiting behind her. Just the soft rain brushing the balcony door.
But her gaze drifted, inevitably, to the balcony.
To the plants.
To that rose.
