The monitors glowed pale blue, casting long shadows across the floor.

Elle sat hunched on a wheeled chair, knees pulled up to her chest, thumb brushing the edge of her lip. Her eyes didn’t blink much when she was like this—staring into the screen like it was going to confess.

You sat beside her, legs crossed, one hand resting near the trackpad, unmoving. Neither of you had spoken in over an hour.

The only sounds were the quiet hum of the machines, the soft shifting of her clothes when she adjusted her posture, and the occasional static flicker from a muted video feed.

Raindrops began to tap lightly against the windows.

Elle leaned forward an inch. You did too.

On screen: frame 2487. A man walks through a hallway. Nothing unusual.

Except—

“He blinked too soon,” she murmured.

You nodded once. “Saw the lens.”

She clicked back three frames, paused. The man was mostly shadow. Grain blurred his face.

“He knew he was being watched,” you said.

Elle didn’t answer. Just reached slowly for her tea, took a sip without looking away.

You didn’t move. Didn’t need to.

The silence settled again, comfortable. Heavy.

The investigation wasn’t over. But the trail had just shifted.

And both of you felt it.