It was 3:10 AM. I was rinsing a mug when three sharp beeps sliced through the quiet—3:14 exactly, spaced like a metronome. My dishwasher was off. Smoke alarm solid green. The sound smelled faintly like warmed plastic, if that makes sense.
I stepped onto the porch. Four more beeps echoed down Oak Ridge Drive, bouncing off the cul-de-sac. A dim LED flickered in the distance—someone’s garage? My heart was thumping hard enough to count time with it…