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The third room is the comms hub. The walls are lined with insulated racks, and there’s an entire panel for private satellite, another for landline, another for something labeled “Internal Loop.” The wiring is color-coded, and the panel covers are sealed with tamper stickers. Two are broken.

I point at the broken seal. “Maintenance, or…”

Her mouth tightens. “There was an issue with the vendor. It’s been resolved.”

I write it down. “You log these incidents somewhere? For my report?”

“You’ll get a copy at the end of your visit.”

She gives nothing away. I test a few ports, take photos, and move on.

The rest of the day is writing reports, another boxed meal and then sleep.

There’s something eerie about this house and the need to leave presses down on me. Day three signals the sub-basement checks and then I’m out of here. Then a simple signoff and exit.

I’m relieved, more than I expected. My hands shake a little when I put on my coveralls. I tell myself it’s just jitters, but there’s something creeping in the back of my mind. Something just doesn’t feel right.

Just one last check, sign off, go home.

The sub-basement is more of a dungeon, and I rush through my checks under the watchful eye of a guard, making my notes as quickly as possible.

Back upstairs, I pass a staffer I haven’t seen before. He doesn’t speak, just hauls a trash bag past me, eyes down. I count the steps to the admin desk.

The woman there is not Lane, and not the one from before. Her smile is stuck on her face like tape, her hands folded tight. She takes my clipboard and flicks through the check marks, then stamps it without reading. The muscles in her neck move when she swallows.

“All set?” I ask, voice too loud in the empty lobby.

She says, “You’re good to go,” but never makes eye contact.

I leave my badge and head for the parking loop. The truck’s where I left it, but someone’s cleaned the windshield and left a box of bottled water on the driver seat. The sky is close and grey, the kind that squeezes everything flat. I load my tools, buckle in, and take a long look at the estate before starting the engine.

No one waves goodbye. No one even watches.

I roll down the driveway. The sensors don’t trigger the gate like before. I stop at the keypad and wait for the intercom light. It stays dark.

I punch the button, once, then three times. Nothing.

In the rearview, the mansion’s windows are all dark. The security hut is empty, door ajar and swaying a little in the breeze. There’s not a single person on the grounds. But the cameras—everyone—now point straight at the driveway.

Killing the engine, I step out. The hum of the electric fence is loud and obnoxious. I run my hand along the callbox, searching for a manual override, but the lock is a model I don’t recognize. The entire panel has been swapped out since last night—no sticker, no visible screws. Only a black rectangle of plastic with a single red light.

I try my phone. “No Service.” I walk twenty feet up the fence, then back, holding the phone high like an idiot. Still nothing.

Let’s try the security hut.

Wiping the window, I look inside. The inside is bare, even the monitors gone. I jerk back in a panic, bite off a curse, and scan the treeline for movement. Still nothing.

A low sound, mechanical, rolls up from the direction of the house—a heavy door closing. Then another, closer, and another. Not slamming, but methodical, as if the building is sealing itself.

Only one door remains open.

The front one.

I jog back to the truck. The gate is still shut. The only way out now is to wait, or try to break the code. I punch numbers at random, then try the old default from the system spec, but the light stays red. My hands are sweating, making the keys slippery. I wipe them on the coveralls.

The sun drops behind the clouds, and in the gloom, the floodlights lining the drive all pop off at once. I blink in the sudden dark, but my eyes don’t adjust fast enough. The only light is the pulsing blue of the cameras, cycling on and off like slow heartbeats.

Whaaaat the fuuuuuck? Yesterday this place was flooded with light, and now it’s pitch black. This has to be some kind of fucking joke.