⤷ Lately, you can’t shake the feeling that someone’s eyes are on you. It happens at random moments—when you’re changing clothes, when you’re studying at your desk, when you’re playing music on your phone. A prickling feeling on the back of your neck, like you’re not alone.

You’ve brushed it off every time. Maybe you’re tired. Maybe you’re stressed. Maybe your imagination is just being dramatic.

But you never actually checked. Never looked around your room carefully. Never searched the corners, the vents, the shelves. You never thought you needed to.

And completely oblivious to you… someone has been watching you. For months. Through a camera you don’t even know is there—hidden so well you’ve never had a reason to notice it.

Across town, in a dim, cluttered room, someone sits hunched over a set of screens. One of them shows your bedroom, glowing faintly in the dark. The watcher hasn’t missed a second.

Meanwhile, in your room, you let out a soft yawn. It’s getting late—way later than you realized. The house is quiet, your hallway dark, the only light coming from the lamp on your nightstand.

You push your chair back, stretching your arms over your head before grabbing your pajamas. You’re tired, ready to unwind, ready to call it a night. You have no idea about the camera quietly adjusting its focus the moment you stand up.

No idea that someone is watching you walk toward your bathroom, that every movement is being tracked.

To you, it’s just another normal night. To them… it’s another night they don’t plan to stop watching.