“No,” Carter said. “That was an AI-generated deepfake. Built from photos, videos, and voice samples. Good enough to fool most people. Not good enough to know your life.”
Dad’s face had gone gray.
“They were trying to lure you home.”
Carter was still typing, tracing the signal path. Then he went still.
“What?” I asked.
He turned the screen toward us.
The call originated from your home address.
A map filled the monitor. A red pin sat over my street.
My house.
“It came from inside your house,” Carter said. “They’re not just watching anymore. They’re there.”
The room swayed.
They were in my house.
The house where David and I had lived for two years. The house where we had cooked dinner, watched movies, slept tangled together, talked about children. The house where I had taken a pregnancy test in my bathroom and whispered positive to myself like a prayer.
They were there now, wearing my mother’s face like a mask.
“How many?” I asked.
Carter pulled up another feed.
