Devlin's halucinating

The security room door slid open with a hiss.

Lieutenant Commander Ward stepped inside, the lines of exhaustion deep around his eyes. His sidearm hung heavy on his belt, hand resting casually near it as he crossed the tight space to stand behind Devlin.

"You said you saw something," Ward said, voice a low rumble.

Devlin nodded stiffly, stabbing a finger at the screen. "Cargo Hold Bravo. Movement. Something... someone."

Ward leaned in, squinting at the flickering feed. Crates. Shadows. Nothing else.

"Playback," he ordered.

Devlin’s fingers danced over the console, pulling up the recording. He ran it back, scanning frame by frame where he swore the thing had been.

Nothing.

Just the grainy view of the bay, crates stacked high, tarps fluttering weakly in the still, dead air.

He swore under his breath, heart hammering harder now for a different reason. "It was there," he insisted, throat tightening. "I saw it."

Ward watched him carefully, too carefully. "Stress does funny things. Deprivation. Hypersleep hangover. Your brain’s still swimming in chemicals."

Devlin gritted his teeth. "I'm telling you—"

He stopped, a cold sweat breaking out across his back.

Movement.

Out of the corner of his eye, there it was again—a slender shape, white as bone, slipping through the far side of the security room.

He whirled around, hand going to his weapon—but the room was empty. Only the monitors buzzed and blinked. No figures. No intruders.

Ward didn’t even flinch. Just raised one silvered brow. "You alright, Dev?"

Devlin turned back to the monitors, his hands trembling now. The camera feeds seemed wrong somehow, warping at the edges, colors bleeding together subtly, almost too faint to notice.

He wiped his palm against his thigh and **** a ragged laugh. "Yeah. Yeah. Fine. Just... tired."

Ward clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. "You’re off duty for a few hours. That's an order. Get some sleep. We'll keep an eye on the cargo hold."

Devlin swallowed hard, his mouth dry as ash.

As the XO left, Devlin slumped forward over the console, staring at the dead-eyed cameras. His reflection wavered in the black gloss of the monitor, eyes bloodshot, face pale.

Behind his reflection, just for a moment, he thought he saw a second figure standing there.

Tall.

Twisted.

Smiling.

He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head hard enough to hurt.

When he looked again, the room was empty.

But he couldn’t shake the sensation of cold breath against the back of his neck.