The house 17 Willow Break didn't look abandoned.
Infact,it looked disturbingly normal.
A two-story colonial with pale blue siding, a white-trimmed porch, and a wind chime that danced lazily in the breeze. The yard was a little overgrown, sure, but the curtains were drawn, and the mailbox was empty,like someone was still keeping up appearances.
Ethan parked his car a block away. He walked the rest of the distance with the package tucked under one arm, wrapped in plain brown paper. No return address. Just the recipient's name typed neatly across the front:
Mr. Alastair Crane.
He ran the name through his mind. It didn't sound familiar. But then again, none of this was supposed to feel familiar.
Harper's voice echoed in his earpiece. "We've got eyes on you from the alley to the west. If anything goes sideways, say the word 'ghost',we'll breach."
"Copy," Ethan said, keeping his voice low.
He stepped onto the porch. The boards creaked faintly under his weight. From this close, he could see the doorknob had been replaced recently. New brass. Polished.
Someone had been here.
He knocked twice, firmly. The chime rattled above him.
Silence.
He waited ten seconds, then knocked again.
Still nothing.
Harper came through the earpiece. "Thermal shows no movement. Maybe it's a decoy drop."
Ethan tried the knob. Unlocked.
"Going in," he said.
The door swung open with an eerie lack of resistance. The inside was even more unsettling than the outside. Neat. Clean. Dustless.
And absolutely empty.
No furniture. No photos on the walls. No sign of life,just bare floors, spotless countertops, and a faint smell of lavender air freshener.
Ethan stepped inside and shut the door behind him.
"Liam, I need a scan," Harper said. "Something's wrong."
Ethan crept through the front hall, passing through a kitchen to the left and a barren dining room to the right. The package in his arm felt heavier with each step.
Then, a sound.
A faint hum. Electronic. Subtle.
He stopped at the base of the staircase.
"Talk to me," he whispered.
Liam's voice crackled. "Getting interference. Cameras are blind."
"Blind how?"
"Signal jammed."
"Ghost?" Harper asked.
Ethan hesitated. "Not yet."
He moved toward the stairs. The hum was louder now. Not from above. Below.
There was a door under the staircase, tucked into the wall. Its edges were too clean,like it had been installed recently.
Ethan opened it.
A narrow set of stairs led downward, lit by a single dangling bulb. The air changed instantly. Cold. Damp.
"Basement," he muttered.
Harper came through, her tone urgent. "Ethan, fall back. Something's not right."
He descended anyway.
The basement was unfinished, but clearly in use. A folding table sat in the center, surrounded by plastic storage bins. On the far wall was a corkboard,covered with photos, newspaper clippings, red string.
A cliché, but chilling.
And at the center of it all: a photo of Ethan.
Same image from his ID badge. Smiling, unaware, oblivious.
Next to it, a note pinned in block letters:
SUBJECT: ETHAN COLE.
STAGE: ACTIVE.
OUTCOME: PENDING.
His blood ran cold.
He stepped closer, scanning the other materials. Other faces. Dozens of them. Most marked with red Xs. Only a few still labeled "ACTIVE."
He recognized one—Harper.
"Harper…" he whispered.
"I see it," she replied. "We're recording everything."
There was a monitor on the table, displaying a grainy feed of what looked like his own apartment hallway. Camera angle tilted, timestamp flickering.
They'd been watching him. From inside.
Beneath the table, a series of hard drives hummed in rhythm.
Ethan yanked one out.
Suddenly, a voice echoed from behind him. Calm. Male. Unseen.
"You've made quite the impression, Mr. Cole."
Ethan spun, gun drawn.
But the room was still empty.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
The voice continued, emotionless. "You are part of something delicate. Something curated. A perfect specimen... until now."
"Show yourself!"
"You've been given purpose. But purpose without obedience is a liability."
Ethan turned in a slow circle, eyes searching every shadow. There were no speakers, no obvious source.
Harper was yelling in his ear. "Ethan, get out now. Multiple heat signatures inbound. We've got company!"
Ethan grabbed another hard drive and bolted up the stairs.
The front door exploded open as he reached the top,splinters flying. A figure in all black lunged toward him, but Ethan ducked low and slammed the package into the man's chest like a battering ram.
The attacker staggered.
Ethan used the momentum to shoulder through him and out into the night.
Harper's voice snapped. "Northeast alley.Go! Now!"
Ethan sprinted around the house, leapt a chain-link fence, and tore through overgrown hedges. The voices behind him were fast, coordinated.
Two shadows flanked him near the alley, but Harper and Maxwell emerged from the darkness like ghosts, weapons drawn. Gunfire cracked the silence.
"Down!" Harper shouted.
Ethan dropped as Maxwell opened fire. One of the pursuers screamed. The other bolted back toward the house.
Liam's voice chimed in. "I've got a van around the corner. Forty seconds."
They ran.
As they reached the corner, tires screeched. A black van skidded into view, side door already sliding open. Liam waved them in from behind the wheel.
Ethan dove in, Harper and Maxwell on his heels.
The van peeled off into the night.
Inside, Ethan finally exhaled, hard drive still clutched in his shaking hand.
"You good?" Harper asked.
Ethan looked at her, a fire igniting behind his eyes.
"I don't want to survive this," he said. "I want to destroy it."
Harper gave him a grim nod. "Then let's see what secrets you just stole."