But from that night on, every time he opened Bluetooth settings, a faint, flickering device appeared for just a second: “HID-8482 - Awake.”

Leo exhaled, then looked at the mouse. It moved normally now—no more writing, no more warnings. Just a tool.

He clicked. He shook it. He flipped it over and stabbed at the pairing button. The little blue LED blinked twice, then died. “Not now,” he whispered. But the mouse was silent. Dead. Betrayed.

Letters. In a Notepad window that had opened by itself. HELLO LEO. YOUR BATTERY IS AT 3%. I HAVE 47 MINUTES LEFT. Leo stared. Then typed: Who is this?

He clicked yes. The cursor moved. But not smoothly. It drifted left, then stopped. Then, slowly, deliberately, it began to write.