Elena does not move.
I see it immediately on the feed. The way her body locks, shoulders drawn tight, breath so shallow the audio barely registers it. The curtains at the far end of the living room sway gently, brushing the glass like something passed too close.
There is no airflow registered inside the apartment.
I know that.
She knows it too.
She stares at the narrow strip of balcony door still visible between the curtains, unblinking. The city lights beyond blur and sharpen again as her pulse spikes. I can almost hear it in the silence, that rapid thud that always comes just before panic tips into motion.
“Elena,” I say into the comm, keeping my voice low and steady. “Talk to me.”
She swallows. I hear it. A dry, painful sound, like her throat is closing around the words. “The cur
