I noticed it in the sheets first.
A crease on the pillow that wasn't mine.
I hadn't moved much in my sleep—I knew that because the system told me how long I rested, how often I turned, how many times my breathing spiked.
Yet the indentation beside me remained.
Too deliberate.
Like someone had sat there.
Watching.
I pulled the blanket back.
The bed was still warm.
My phone buzzed before the panic could settle.
You always check the bed first.
My throat tightened.
Why?
A pause.
Longer than usual.
Then:
Because last time, you woke up alone and cried.
I sat down hard.
"Who was here?" I whispered to the empty room.
The camera adjusted.
Zoomed.
Not away.
Closer.