Riley's commute brought back memories of running across a battlefield to a certain unpredictable's ship. After catching several awkward stares and judging expressions, he barely stepped into HyperCon with a minute to spare. The familiar groan of machinery greeted him. Its monotonous white noise only seemed to deepen the hollow confines of the Mod Jockey floor.

  Tamitha was mid-conversation with an engineer when her gaze landed on Riley. She excused herself and approached. The click of her heels sounded subdued against the cement floor.

  "Riley," she said, a touch of surprise in her voice. "Didn't expect to see you again. Mod Jockeys who witness a death on their first day usually don't return."

  Riley forced a weak smile, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Didn't have much of a choice."

  Tamitha studied him for a moment, her expression softening. "Well, it's good to have you back. Let's get to it."

  Riley nodded and fell into the rhythm of his tasks. The motions were mechanical, his hands working as his mind wandered. Each time he passed the spot where Thom had fallen, the weight in his chest grew heavier. The facility felt colder there, and the air seemed thinner. His mind refused to relinquish the sight of Thom's charred body.

  Hours into his shift, Riley found himself drawn back to the spot. He paused, his fingers brushing the cold steel railing beside him. A chill ran down his spine. His hand slipped into his pocket, finding the rough fabric of The Watcher's Cover. What could it hurt? he thought, curiosity sparking through the fog of grief. Maybe the blindfold was just a novelty. But something in him demanded answers.

  As Riley waited for the shift changeover, he kept a wary eye on his surroundings. The Mod Jockey floor gradually fell silent, the steady thrum of machinery replaced by the shuffle of workers heading for the exits. He glanced around. No one lingered. This was his moment.

  He slid the blindfold over his eyes. The world dimmed with shadows dancing in muted shapes through the worn fabric. He focused on the spot where Thom had died, his breath catching as he strained to see something, anything, that might offer answers. He saw nothing but the mundane floor, just as it always was.

  He sighed, pulling the blindfold tighter, half-hoping for some spark of revelation. But the plain floor stared back, indifferent. Just a replica, he thought bitterly, dropping his hands in defeat.

  After a moment in silence, he reached up to remove it, but something caught his eye. Through the thin fabric, faint, wispy trails of light began to materialize where Thom had fallen. The ethereal trails shimmered like ghostly echoes caught between worlds. Riley's pulse quickened.

  The wisps twined and swirled, forming a delicate, almost beautiful pattern. Riley reached out, feeling a chill as his fingers neared the light. The trails seemed to respond, pulsing gently.

  Just as his fingertips brushed the light, a single word reverberated in his mind: Threnody. It carried a weight of sorrow and remembrance, resonating through him like a solemn melody.

  Riley's hand jerked back, his chest tightening. "Threnody," he whispered. The wisps flickered, then slowly faded, leaving only the dim module array in their wake.

  He stood frozen, the word looping in his mind. What did it mean?

  Before he could investigate further, a faint whirring noise broke the silence behind him. Riley whipped around, the blindfold slipping from his face. His eyes darted across the shadowed facility, landing on a tiny drone hovering near the far wall. Its spherical frame glinted under the overhead lights.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Riley's throat tightened. He recalled the watchie that scanned his room the day before. But this one… this one felt different. Instead of a bright red, this watchie's eye radiated a deep green, and it was fixed squarely on him. It felt almost... aware.

  "Hey," Riley called out. It felt odd, but he couldn't resist the urge to break the silence. The Watchie tilted slightly as if considering him. It didn't seem hostile, yet its presence felt charged.

  For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, without warning, the Watchie zipped past him, brushing close enough for Riley to feel the faint rush of air from its propulsion. It disappeared into the shadows, its green light fading like an ember.

  Riley exhaled shakily, his fingers gripping The Watcher's Cover around his neck. What the hell had that been?

  The sound of approaching footsteps jolted him from his thoughts. The shift change was starting. Heart pounding, he quickly pocketed the blindfold and hurried back to his station.

  Throughout the rest of his shift, Riley's mind buzzed with questions. The ghostly trails, the word Threnody, and now the green-eyed Watchie. It was as though the world were peeling back layers he was never meant to see.

  His focus wavered, and at one point, he nearly botched a routine adjustment on a module.

  "Watch it, Riley!" a fellow Mod Jockey barked, jolting him back to the present. "You trying to join Thom or something?"

  Riley mumbled an apology, his cheeks burning. He forced himself to stay grounded for the remainder of his shift, though his thoughts refused to settle.

  When his shift finally ended, Riley lingered, waiting for the others to leave. The floor emptied slowly as the echoes of footsteps faded into silence. Alone again, he approached the spot where Thom had fallen. His curiosity hadn't been satiated.

  He slipped The Watcher's Cover over his eyes once more, hoping the trails would reappear. But there was nothing—just the dim, ordinary shapes of the Mod Jockey floor and the lingering scent of oil. He waited a full minute, but nothing happened. Frustration clawed at him. Had it all been in his head? Why had the trails vanished?

  Riley removed the blindfold, and his gaze fell to the cold metal beneath his feet. He couldn't shake the word Threnody from his mind. With a heavy sigh, he pocketed the blindfold and turned toward the exit.

  As he walked, he glanced toward the shadows where the Watchie had disappeared. He couldn't shake that memory either.

  The cold night air clung to Riley like a damp shroud as he trekked back to Tower 7c. Amid the quiet streets, "Threnody" continued to loop in his thoughts. Was it a name? A warning? Each possibility felt heavier than the last. The uncertainty gnawed at him.

  The chill bit deeper, pulling him from the faint warmth of The Watcher's Cover still nestled in his pocket. Reality reasserted itself in the steady drone of distant traffic and the faint rustle of wind through the narrow alleys. But even the mundane felt alien, as though the fabric of his world had frayed at the edges. Everything seemed... off.

  That unsettling haze shattered the moment Tower 7c came into view. Flashing lights from emergency vehicles reflected off the building's windows. Their rhythmic pulses set Riley's nerves on edge. The pace of his steps and heart quickened as he drew closer. From the crowd gathered outside, hushed whispers and sharp gasps reached his ears.

  A stretcher emerged, its burden hidden beneath a white sheet.

  "Third defense break this week," a paramedic muttered.

  "Yeah," the other replied, shaking her head. "Towers are getting worse every day."

  Riley's breath caught in his throat. He strained to make out more, but the stretcher disappeared into the ambulance before he could get a better look. A hollow unease settled into his chest.

  Ascending to his floor, Riley stepped into chaos. Tenants crowded around the Floor Manager's Office, their voices a cacophony of panic and fear. Some wept openly, others paced frantically, their words colliding in a frantic symphony of confusion. Overhead, the pulsing floor status light cast a red pallor over the scene, deepening the sense of dread.

  Riley pushed through the crowd, his worry spiking with every fragment of conversation that reached him.

  "We're sitting ducks now!"

  "How can this happen?"

  "What are we going to do?"

  A woman's voice broke through the din, her tone trembled with disbelief. "Mr. Dalton…"

  The name hit Riley like a sledgehammer. Now he knew who was on that stretcher. Timothy Dalton, the first kind person Riley had met outside of Helix, was gone. And with his departure, so too did the safety of floor 13. Now, anyone could attack their residence within the InfiNet.

  Then, cutting through the noise like a knife, a familiar voice slithered out, dripping with smugness.

  "Well, well," it drawled. "What do we have here?"

  Riley turned to see Marcus standing at the edge of the crowd, his sinister grin illuminated by the blinking red light.