Chapter 9 — Unseen Threads

Morning eased into the apartment with a pale hush, the kind of light that makes dust motes drift like secrets. Evan woke to the smell of fresh coffee and the soft rattle of pages as Mira sorted bills at the kitchen counter. For the first time all week, Nora slept soundly, her small form bundled tight and safe in her crib. Yet, despite domestic calm, Evan's mind churned with the System's latest directive:

[Main Quest: Uncover the inside collaborator within 48 hours. Reward: Enhanced Surveillance Skill, 180 SP.]

He pulled his laptop onto his knees, eyes flicking over layers of security logs—member badges, entry times, odd spikes in Wi-Fi traffic after midnight. Sam, half-shaved and grumpy, wandered out, scanning the whiteboard.

"Any luck?" Sam's voice was gravel in the morning quiet.

"Some," Evan murmured. "Too many staff cards in and out, and not all are listed as active."

Mira brought over a mug, her brow furrowed. "Anyone we know?"

Evan brought up a list—custodians, supervisors, student volunteers. One name repeated at off-hours, a neighbor from two floors down, someone whose polite smile had never once seemed suspicious. He pointed it out, and Sam's eyes widened.

"He babysat for Ms. Parker last Friday. Came by with a delivery, too."

Mira's fingers tightened around her cup. "We need to talk to Calver again. Maybe there's been a switch—or a lost card."

A new System panel blinked gently:

[Side Quest: Establish Neighborhood Watch Partnership. Reward: Community Trust Lv 1, 70 SP.]

By midday, Mira had organized a meeting in the laundry room—three residents with strollers, two elderly tenants, even the grumpy barista from the corner shop. They shared stories of packages gone missing, odd footsteps after curfew, flickering lights on cameras that were meant to be stable.

Evan explained, as vaguely as he could, the patterns observed. The group agreed to share schedules, check on each other's homes, and—if necessary—walk in small groups late at night. Suddenly, their building didn't feel like a stack of strangers, but a web ready to hold against pressure.

Back upstairs, with Nora gurgling in her baby seat, the weight seemed lighter, hope growing in small, overlapping ways.

But that night, as Evan double-checked new network logs, his phone vibrated with a message—number blocked, all identifying info wiped:

Danger comes not just from outside.

Watch the ones closest to you.

The room chilled. Mira found him by the window, her hand finding his, eyes clear. "What now?" she whispered, reading the text.

"We watch. We trust, but not blindly. We'll double the locks, and keep our eyes wider."

As silence closed in, their tiny apartment felt fortified, yet more vulnerable than ever. Eyes unseen mapped their patterns, listened to borrowed laughter, and bided their time.

Somewhere, in the tangle of human trust and digital warfare, another plan began to move—unseen, but tightening around their lives all the same.