Panic sparked in Leo’s chest. He stood up, his chair scraping against the floor—a sound that felt deafening in the absolute stillness. He walked to the window. Outside, the parking lot was a tableau. A kid on a bike was tilted at a 45-degree angle, his scarf a rigid flag. A bird hung in the sky like a paper ornament.

Marcus’s lips were parted. His eyes were open, but unblinking. A frozen pixel of dust hung in the air between them.

It was a live feed of his own bedroom window.