The Staging Area

The notification popped up on my phone screen, a small white rectangle against the background of my sleeping son.

*Sentinel Corp: Direct Deposit. $250.00.*

I stared at it. Two hundred and fifty dollars. The exact amount of the monthly "wellness bonus" Mark had received for keeping my stress metrics in the optimal range.

But Mark was gone. Diane was gone. Sentinel was bankrupt.

I opened the banking app, my fingers trembling slightly. The deposit was real. But the sender wasn't a routing number. It was a name.

*Elowen Vance.*

I looked at Leo. He was fast asleep in his crib, his chest rising and falling with the peaceful rhythm of a child who had never known a lock he couldn't open. The green light in his eye was gone, or maybe it was just dormant.

I tapped on the transaction details. There was a message attached.

*Thanks for the stress test. Bug bounty paid. The 104-D release is going to be flawless.*

I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the drafty window. I looked around the messy, chaotic apartment. The boxes. The dust. The unmade bed.

It wasn't a sanctuary.

It was a beta test.

I hadn't escaped the system. I hadn't burned it down. I had simply moved to the next level.

I walked to the window and looked down at the street. A black SUV was parked under the streetlight. The engine was off. The windows were dark.

But as I watched, the brake lights flared red. Once. Twice.

Like a signal.

My phone buzzed again.

A notification from the smart-lock app I thought I had deleted.

*New Device Detected: 104 Hydrangea Lane (Little Five Points Branch).*

*User: Thea_Minter (Admin).*

I looked at the front door. The deadbolt was engaged. The chain was on.

But then, the handle began to turn.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

I didn't scream. I didn't run. I picked up the steak knife from the counter—the one I had used to cut an apple for Leo's snack.

I walked to the door.

"Come and see," I whispered to the empty room.

I unlocked the deadbolt. I slid the chain off.

I opened the door.

The hallway was empty.

But on the floor, sitting on the welcome mat, was a small, white envelope.

I picked it up. Inside was a single photograph.

It showed me, standing in this doorway, holding a knife.

The timestamp was from right now.

But the angle wasn't from the hallway.

It was from inside the apartment.

I spun around.

Leo was sitting up in his crib. He was looking at me. He was smiling.

And in his hand, he held a phone.

My old phone. The one Mark had wiped.

He held it up, the screen glowing in the dark room.

It was recording.

"Mama?" he cooed.

The voice didn't come from his mouth.

It came from the phone.

"Did you really think the exit button was for you?"