Miri didn't dream like other kids.
Her dreams were pieces of days, stitched together with color and feeling and sounds that didn't always belong.
Sometimes she dreamed about Ridgepoint—rooms that echoed, voices that whispered things she wasn't supposed to understand. Sometimes she dreamed of her mother's face, even though she wasn't sure she'd ever seen it clearly.
And sometimes—like last night—she dreamed about the man in the coat.
He didn't chase her. He didn't speak.
He just watched.
That morning, she sat at the kitchen table, drawing while Liam made breakfast.
Elena was outside, pretending not to be tense, but Miri could feel it in the air. Like the sky before a storm. Not thunder. Just the pressure.
Liam handed her a bowl of oatmeal, then crouched beside her chair.
"You okay, bug?"
She nodded.
"You sure?"
She looked at him, studied his eyes. There was something under the calm in his voice. Something that buzzed just beneath the surface.
"You're scared," she said softly.
He blinked. "What makes you say that?"
"You hold the spoon too tight when you stir."
Liam exhaled and smiled faintly. "Maybe I'm just bad at stirring."
She didn't laugh.
"Did someone come by last night?" she asked.
He stilled.
"Why?"
She turned her notebook around.
A figure stood near the treeline in charcoal lines and faint shading.
"He's closer this time."
Liam reached for the sketchpad and studied it longer than usual.
She watched his hand, not his face. He was doing the thing where he didn't breathe for a second. Like he was trying not to break something invisible between them.
He looked at her. "You're not scared?"
"I don't think he wants me to be," Miri said.
"Then what do you think he wants?"
She hesitated. "To see what you'll do."
Later that afternoon, Elena tried to act normal.
She helped Miri braid her hair. Watered the plants. Laughed at a joke Liam made about pinecones and useless perimeter tech.
But something about the way Elena touched her arm before bedtime—soft and lingering—told Miri everything.
Something bad was coming.
She didn't ask questions. Not yet.
Instead, she waited.
Until the house was dark.
Then she opened the vent behind her bed and pulled out the listening device.
She didn't know exactly what it was—only that it didn't belong. That it hadn't been there two nights ago. That it hummed, even when the room was still.
She'd found it by accident. Left it alone. Waited to see if anyone noticed.
No one had.
So she kept it.
And tonight, for the first time, she pressed the tiny switch on its side.
A voice filtered through the static.
Male. Calm.
"They're still unaware. Phase two begins tomorrow. Shadow protocol holds. She's the entry point."
Miri didn't know what the words meant.
But she knew who "she" was.
And she knew someone was lying.
She replayed the voice three times.
She didn't understand all the words. Not "Phase Two," not "protocol," not even why the voice sounded so close when it came from something so small.
But she knew what mattered.
She was the entry point.
That's what the voice said.
Not Liam.
Not Elena.
Her.
She sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, the vent panel beside her, the device resting gently in her palm. She hadn't told anyone about it. Not because she wanted to lie, but because grown-ups only listened when it was already too late.
And she didn't want it to be too late.
She pulled out her sketchpad and opened to a clean page.
She began to draw—not a person this time, not a place. But the device.
Every detail. The way the wires curled inside. The color of the LED light when it blinked. The faint ridge on the side where a fingernail could pop the cover off.
When she finished, she labeled it in the corner:
"Found behind vent. Not ours. Not safe."
She turned to the next page.
This time she drew Elena.
She gave her soft eyes. A strong jaw. A hand curled protectively around a younger figure—herself.
She stared at the drawing for a long time.
Then she whispered to it:
"I'll protect you too."
Elena
Elena couldn't sleep.
She stared at the ceiling fan above the bed as it rotated in slow, rhythmic circles—like it was counting down time she didn't have.
Liam slept beside her, arm resting above his head, body finally relaxed after days of tension.
But she couldn't rest. Not when something still felt… off.
Not in the obvious way. Not like Ridgepoint. Not like running for her life.
Something quieter. Like a door left ajar. A breath taken in another room.
She slipped out of bed and walked barefoot through the cabin.
Stopped in the hallway.
Miri's door was open a crack.
Elena pushed it gently and peeked inside.
The girl was curled beneath the covers, sketchpad beside her, pencil still clutched in her hand.
But the thing that caught Elena's eye wasn't the drawing—it was the faint, metallic smell in the room. Not blood. Not oil.
Wires.
She stepped inside and crouched near the vent.
It was slightly ajar.
And the panel beside Miri's bed looked like it had been opened… and replaced.
"Miri?" Elena said softly.
The girl stirred but didn't open her eyes.
"Did you see something?" she asked. "Did someone… leave anything in here?"
A pause. Then Miri's voice, barely above a whisper:
"I was going to tell you tomorrow."
Elena's heart pounded.
"What were you going to tell me?"
Miri rolled over, eyes wide open now, too calm for someone her age. "There's something in the wall. It talks. I drew it for you."
Elena sat frozen for a second before she reached for the sketchpad.
The drawing was… detailed. Accurate in a way that no child should be able to replicate from memory.
And labeled.
"Found behind vent. Not ours. Not safe."
Elena looked up at her, voice low and urgent. "You didn't touch it, right?"
"I turned it on."
Elena nearly stopped breathing. "Miri—why?"
"Because I needed to know if they were coming back. I needed to know if Liam was right."
Elena sat beside her and pulled her close, fingers trembling through the girl's hair.
"You're not supposed to have to protect anyone," she whispered. "That's our job."
Miri didn't cry. She just leaned into Elena's chest and whispered back:
"But what if I'm the reason they're coming?"