The Tape

Cover the lens. The instruction burned in Elena’s mind, a jagged command from the only person who could see the invisible threads strangling her. She stared at the black pinhole of the camera, feeling the weight of Valerie’s gaze boring through the screen, through her skin, into the very data of her soul.

She didn't move. She couldn't. If she reached out and covered the lens now, Valerie would know the hunt had shifted. Elena forced herself to blink, to yawn, to perform the role of the exhausted, grieving mother one last time for the digital audience.

She eased the tablet back under Leo’s blanket, her movements slow and heavy. Then, she stood up and walked toward the nursery’s small ensuite bathroom. She needed a prop. Something to mask the sabotage.

She found a roll of black electrical tape in the vanity drawer—Marcus’s "emergency kit" for minor repairs. Her hands were slick with sweat, the tape sticking to her trembling fingers as she tore off a dozen tiny, uniform squares.

Elena stepped back into the nursery. She moved to the secondary monitor—the one that tracked Leo’s oxygen saturation—and carefully pressed a square of tape over the status LED. Then she moved to the humidifier, then the air purifier, masking every tiny glow of light in the room.

"Too much light, Leo," she whispered, her voice loud enough for the hidden microphones to catch. "Mommy’s going to make it dark so we can both sleep."

She reached up to the smoke detector where the nursery’s primary lens was hidden. She didn't hesitate. She pressed a square of tape over the plastic housing, blacking out the center of the frame.

She repeated the process in the hallway, the master bedroom, and finally, the kitchen. She was a shadow moving through a house of glass, shattering the windows one by one.

Marcus was in the kitchen, staring at the shattered window she’d broken earlier. He had a roll of heavy plastic and a staple gun, the rhythmic *thwack-clack* echoing like a heartbeat. He stopped when Elena entered, the staple gun hanging heavy in his hand.

"What are you doing, El?" he asked, his eyes tracking the roll of black tape in her hand.

Elena didn't flinch. She walked to the smoke detector above the stove and slapped a piece of tape over it. "I read an article today. On one of those mommy blogs. About digital privacy and the 'smart home' vulnerabilities. Hackers can use the internal cameras to map the house for burglaries."

She turned to him, her expression a mask of wide-eyed, fragile paranoia. "I can't sleep, Marcus. Not with those eyes watching us. I need it to be dark. Truly dark."

Marcus stared at her. The staple gun remained poised, a lethal weight in the quiet room. He looked at the tape, then at the covered sensor, his jaw working as he processed the move. He knew she was lying, but he couldn't prove which lie she was telling.

"Burglars?" he asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "In a blizzard?"

"They use the Wi-Fi," Elena insisted, her voice rising with a practiced edge of hysteria. "I won't have it. Not around Leo."

Marcus laughed. It was a hollow, echoing sound that didn't reach his eyes. He set the staple gun on the island and stepped toward her, his presence an overwhelming pressure.

"You're paranoid, El," Marcus said, his voice dropping to that synthetic, soothing register.

But his eyes scanned the room, counting the covered cameras. He knew the cage was no longer transparent.

Marcus laughed. 'You're paranoid, El.' But his eyes scanned the room, counting the covered cameras.