Suddenly, the feed flickered. A face appeared, filling the frame. It was Mrs. Miller, but her eyes were wrong—the pupils were square, pulsing with a faint, digital hum. She looked directly into the lens, her mouth opening unnaturally wide.
Elias leaned closer to the glass. Across the street, the Miller house was glowing. Not with the warm amber of a living room lamp, but a harsh, clinical ultraviolet. He pulled up his camera feed—a hidden lens he’d tucked into a birdhouse. Disturbia
"Elias," a voice whispered. It didn't come from the computer. It came from his own hallway. Suddenly, the feed flickered
Elias backed against the window, the glass cold against his spine. He looked out at the street one last time. Every house was now bathed in that same ultraviolet glow. Doors were clicking open in unison. Figures were stepping out onto the wet asphalt, all of them turning their square-pupiled gaze toward his window. Miller, but her eyes were wrong—the pupils were