The glass hummed under Maya's fingertips. She hadn't meant to touch it—her body simply moved closer, pulled by some quiet magnet in her chest.
Outside, the shadow waited. It didn't shuffle its feet, didn't sway like a man would in the cold. It stood perfectly still, the storm bending around it like it wasn't even there.
Her phone's timer bled down: 01:59.
Two minutes until… what? Acquisition? Elimination? Transformation? The words tangled in her head, useless.
Her phone vibrated.
Kiran:I see it on the projection. Vector 3 is right at your location. Maya, get away from the window!
She stumbled back, knees bumping into her father's old desk. The CLEARANCE E7 badge lay where she had dropped it, edges catching the blue glow of her phone. Once, it had been her father's key. Now the system had spat the word at her—
[ SYSTEM: COMPROMISED ]
Her stomach clenched. Not just the badge. Her.
The tapping resumed. Steady this time. Knuckles. Not rain. Not wind. Claiming. Testing.
She backed further into the room, eyes darting toward the door, the hallway beyond. Running meant bolts, chains, noise. Too long. Too loud. And if the thing outside was faster—?
The lights flickered. Once. Twice. Held. But the shadows seemed to grow teeth. The air tasted metallic, like she'd bitten her tongue.
Her phone buzzed again.
[ SYSTEM: SECONDARY HOST CONFIRMATION INITIATED. VOICE SAMPLE REQUIRED. ]
"No," she hissed, clutching the phone. "You don't get to—"
A crack split across the glass. Thin, white, jagged like lightning frozen in stasis.
Maya's scream caught in her throat. She lunged for the closet, slammed the door, pressed herself between cedar-scented coats. The faint slat of light under the door glowed red as her phone lit again.
[ SYSTEM: VECTOR 3 PROXIMITY ACHIEVED. INTAKE PROTOCOL PENDING. ]
Her pulse hammered. She pressed the phone to her chest to muffle the buzz. Still, it vibrated. Relentless.
Kiran:Maya, listen. You can fight this. Tell it you reject authorization!
She wanted to believe him. Words against a thing that cracked glass with a fingertip? Her throat felt stitched shut.
The wood creaked, heavy with weight on the other side.
And then—
A voice.
Not Kiran's. Not text.
It filled the closet itself, flat and mechanical, horribly intimate.
"Maya Singh. Host confirmed."
The timer blinked zero.
00:00:00
The closet door shuddered. Hinges groaned. It began to open.