Aurora sat on the edge of her bed, eyes fixed on Han's small, discreet camera screen displayed on her laptop.
The device, no larger than a button, had been specially requested by her.
When she asked her siblings to help her plant these cameras, she had been very specific about what she wanted: long-lasting battery, minimal energy consumption, and excellent clarity even in dim lighting.
The battery lasted weeks at a time, but Aurora never connected unnecessarily.
She knew that even a single connection drained power, so she only checked the feed when absolutely necessary.
Her eyes were trained, focused, and sharp. She had spent the last week gathering bits and pieces of information that, when assembled like a puzzle, painted a disturbing picture.
Today, for the first time, she had enough pieces.
She clicked the next video file. The screen flickered, then stabilized. What she saw made her breath pause, as if someone had suddenly pressed a hand on her chest.
