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That’s not surveillance.
That’s calibration.
I open a blank document and start logging time stamps.
08:42 — first pass.
09:11 — second pass.
09:39 — third.
Too regular to be coincidence.
Too irregular to be patrol.
My phone vibrates once.
A message from Aaron.
Perimeter still clean. You okay?
I stare at it for a second.
Then I type:
Define clean.
Three dots appear.
Then vanish.
Then:
What did you see?
I don’t answer immediately.
Instead, I move.
Shoes on. Quiet. Slow.
I don’t open the door.
I check the peephole.
Empty hallway.
I step back and listen.
Nothing.
But—
There.
The elevator.
It stops.
