Tony

The silence in my house felt different when I returned from the police station. Not the comfortable quiet I'd grown used to, but the heavy stillness that follows a scream. Every shadow seemed deeper, every corner more suspicious. The air itself felt watched.

I stood in my foyer, keys still dangling from my fingers, listening. The grandfather clock ticked its steady rhythm. The refrigerator hummed from the kitchen. But underneath these familiar sounds, I heard something else, a faint electronic buzz, almost inaudible.

Following the sound led me to the living room, where I found the first camera.

It was smaller than a matchbox, nestled behind the frame of...