The Brubaker house always smells like other people's dinners. Mara has babysat three-year-old Theo eleven times now. Same rules every time: monitor on, door cracked, bed by eight. It's 9:40 and the living room is dark except for the little green screen. Theo is a small white smudge, asleep on his side. Then the screen hisses with static, and when it clears, the smudge is sitting straight up, facing the camera.

Mara taps the screen, sure it glitched. Just a shadow, a trick of the night-light. She flips the monitor over to check the battery, and when she turns it back, Theo is lying down again, perfectly normal. She lets out a breath. Probably nothing. She sits back on the couch with her phone.