The house was still at midnight.
Ren couldn't sleep. Again.
He paced past the kitchen, heard the hum of the cameras, the soft whir of an automated sweep drone in the hallway ceiling. The producers were smart. Silent. Everywhere.
But apparently, not smart enough.
Because Ivy was in the hallway too.
Kneeling near a corner.
Holding a pencil.
And sketching.
Ren stopped, just out of her line of sight.
She hadn't noticed him yet.
The paper in her lap was smudged with graphite — sharp lines, tiny notes, angles. He crept a step closer, just enough to see what she was drawing.
A map.
Of the mansion.
Not just rooms and hallways — camera placements, blind spots, microphone ranges, infrared motion points. Labeled with accuracy that was almost clinical.
He cleared his throat.
She flinched so hard she dropped her pencil.
"Ivy?" he said gently.
She didn't answer.
Just grabbed the paper, folded it once, twice, shoved it into her oversized hoodie.
"I was just drawing," she mumbled.
Ren gave a slow nod. "Okay."
She stood up quickly, still not looking him in the eye.
"You're not… mad?"
"Why would I be mad?"
"Because I saw things I'm not supposed to."
Ren blinked.
"What things?"
Ivy finally looked at him. Her eyes were glassy. Wide.
"I saw you watching me. That night in the dining room. You said you didn't remember me, but you looked right at me. Like you knew."
He froze.
"Ivy…"
"You're lying to all of us," she whispered. "But it's okay."
She took a step closer.
"Because they're lying too."
And then, like nothing happened, she turned and walked away — disappearing into the dark hallway.
Ren stood alone, heart pounding.
He didn't know what scared him more:
The fact that Ivy was watching everyone…
Or the fact that someone like her was being watched, too.