Iris
The apartment is pitch black, save for the thin strips of light coming in from beneath the curtains where the city lights can’t be fully blocked out. I can barely make out Arthur’s silhouette beside me as we crouch in the shadows of our closet, waiting.
When Miles told us about his dream—that Leonard was “in the walls” and coming to kill us—we didn’t waste time questioning it. We’ve learned to trust his visions. Instead, we immediately began searching the apartment for listening devices or cameras.
It didn’t take long to find them. There were bugs in our phones, in Miles’ toys, and most disturbing of all, the nanny cams we’d installed to keep an eye on Miles had been hacked. Someone—Leonard, presumably—had been watching and listening to everything for months.
The reali
