She pressed play and watched the grainy black-and-white feed unfold. For several minutes, nothing stirred. The bushes sat motionless, the night undisturbed. She fast-forwarded, glancing at timestamps—1:30 a.m., 2:00, 2:45. Nothing. Her chest began to sink. And then, just past 3:00 a.m.—movement.
Rose froze. Behind the daisy bushes, the thick hedges trembled ever so slightly—barely noticeable. She leaned in closer. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a blurred figure slipped through the frame, low to the ground, moving swiftly. Her breath caught in her throat, her finger hovering over the pause button.