He scrolled through the list, his stomach turning to ice. IDLE meant a device was listening. ACTIVE meant it was watching. And TRANSMITTING meant it was feeding data to someone else.

The radio’s tiny speaker crackled. A voice, warped and digitized, but unmistakably his father’s, whispered through the static:

The screen cleared. A live video feed appeared—grainy, sepia-toned, and utterly impossible. It showed his father’s old workshop. The bench was clean, the tools neatly hung on the pegboard. But in the center of the room, standing motionless, was a figure Liam hadn't seen in two years. His father. He was looking up , directly into the lens of a camera that didn't exist.

WELCOME TO THE NETWORK. YOU ARE NOW NODE 00.

SYNCING… UNLIMITED ACCESS GRANTED.

The lights in the garage flickered and died. The only light left was the pale, red glow of the clock radio—and the steady, knowing green eye of the box on the floor.