The blinking started as something so small my wife almost ignored it. We were two nights into a long weekend, half-asleep on an unfamiliar mattress, when Pilar nudged my arm and whispered, “Why is the smoke detector flashing?”
I mumbled something about low batteries and rolled over. Then it blinked again. Once every few seconds. Too steady. Too deliberate.
I dragged a chair over, stood on it, and twisted the plastic dome loose. The moment it came free, my stomach dropped. Nestled inside the housing was a tiny black lens, angled directly at the bed.
We didn’t debate what to do. We didn’t call anyone. We packed like people escaping a fire. Chargers ripped from walls. Toiletries dumped loose into a bag. Clothes shoved in without folding. Ten minutes later we were in the car, parked under the harsh lights of a gas station, the smoke detector dome sealed in a grocery bag on the back seat. We drank warm sodas because our hands needed something to hold.
I posted a review on the platform. Short. Angry. Honest. “Hidden camera in the bedroom. Unsafe. We left immediately.”
Ten minutes later, a reply appeared from the host’s verified account.
“You fool. This is a felony. You’ve just interfered with an active police sting.”
I stared at the screen, waiting for the punchline. Pilar read it silently, then again, her face draining of color.
“Is this… real?” she asked. “Like federal?”
We are aggressively normal people. I teach middle school science. Pilar is a doula who throws pottery on weekends. Our wildest run-ins with authority involve parking tickets and school board emails. This wasn’t our world.
Within an hour, my account was suspended. A case manager named Rochelle requested a call. Her voice was smooth, empty of detail.
“The device you removed was part of an authorized surveillance operation,” she said. “The host is a contracted asset working with authorities.”
“Which authorities?” I asked.
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
She told us our information had been forwarded to a federal liaison and advised us to refrain from posting further details “for our own protection.”
We checked into a chain hotel twenty minutes away and slept like people who expect a knock any second. The next afternoon, a man introduced himself as Agent Darren Mistry. Clean-shaven. Calm. Eyes that never stopped measuring.
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