Chapter 7 The Eyes In The Static

Riley Clay had always known something was wrong with the footage.

She'd watched it a hundred times - the last known video file her father had sent before he vanished into the mountains. Military-grade bodycam, timestamped just two hours before the Breach Point blackout. It was supposed to be classified, but she'd found it in a hidden drive embedded in the lining of his old duffel bag.

In the grainy footage, Marcus Clay is panting, running through steel corridors with flashing red lights. His voice is ragged:

"-containment breach, multiple down, Rourke's gone - he just- he just stood there-"

Gunfire. Screams. Then silence.

And then... the static starts.

It's brief. Less than a second.

But every time Riley paused it, at the exact frame before the camera cuts out, her father's face could be seen reflected in a broken screen. Only it wasn't quite his.

The eyes were too wide. Too dark.

Too... aware.

She leaned back in her dark apartment, the laptop humming on the table. She rubbed at the scar behind her left ear - a childhood accident, supposedly. Lately, it had been burning. Every time she watched the footage.

Outside, rain drummed hard on the windows.

Her burner phone buzzed.

Unknown Number.

She hesitated, then answered.

A voice rasped through the speaker:

"You want answers? Go to the tunnels beneath Canyon Ridge. You'll find what's left of your father. And maybe yourself."

The call dropped.

Riley stared at the phone.

She hadn't told anyone she was looking.

No one.

She closed the laptop, grabbed her jacket, and holstered the Glock she never left home without.

As she stepped into the hallway, the mirror by the door caught her reflection.

For just a second, it smiled at her.

She didn't.