The night vision showed his own shape under the blanket. But behind him, standing in the corner where the shadows pooled, there was a second figure. Featureless. Pale. One hand raised, fingers splayed, as if waving at the camera.

But the alert thumbnail —the split-second image that triggered the motion event—showed a pale shape. He tapped it.

But the living room feed showed the hand still on the glass. And this time, the fingers were curling inward, slowly, as if trying to pull the window open from the inside—while the room beyond remained perfectly, impossibly, empty.

Leo sat up. He replayed the clip. Twelve seconds of nothing, then the hand appeared from the right edge of the frame—not from the door, not from the hallway, but from the wall where no door existed. It pressed against the glass for four seconds. Then pulled back into the dark.

The thumbnail expanded. His chest tightened.

Leo rolled over, thumb swiping the screen awake. The live feed was dark, grainy green from night vision. He saw the usual: sofa, coffee table, the potted fern his ex had left behind. No raccoon.