At first, Logan thought it was coincidence. A black drone—sleek, silent—hovering outside his apartment window as he brushed his teeth. Then again, above the café while he drank his coffee. Even at the gas station two towns over. Same blinking red light. Same low hum, like a whisper meant for only him.

He tried acting casual. No sudden moves. No staring too long. But the drone always kept a polite distance—just close enough to remind him it was there.

Worse were the people.

The barista who smiled too wide. The man at the bus stop who didn’t blink. A toddler pointing at him and whispering to her mother, “He’s the one.”

Everywhere he went—eyes. Not normal eyes. Watching eyes. Like they knew something.

He threw out his phone. Took the back roads. Wore a hat and glasses. Still, the drone found him.

One night, fed up, he waved at it—mocked it. “What? You want something?!”

The drone tilted slightly. Then dropped a slip of paper.

Shaking, he unfolded it. Four words in red ink:

“We’re almost ready, Logan.”

Suddenly, he wasn’t sure who “we” was.

Or what they were ready for.