Signal Deviation

The light from Olivia’s laptop cast shifting patterns across her face, the glow of the screen reflecting in her eyes. She barely blinked, scrolling through video after video, her fingers moving with the kind of restless energy that came when she was onto something.

Jessica sat across from her, arms folded, watching in silence.

She had spent years learning how to read people. How to recognize their tells, microexpressions, the weight of words left unsaid. And right now, Olivia was vibrating with certainty.

Jessica exhaled, rubbing her jaw. “Alright.”

Olivia didn’t look up. “Alright what?”

Jessica leaned forward. “Alright, I believe you.”

Olivia’s fingers hesitated on the keyboard. “You do?”

Jessica nodded. “You’ve never given me a reason not to.”

The words came easier than Jessica expected. But they were true. Olivia had been there through all of it: the revelations, the blood, the impossible truths that had unraveled Jessica’s identity piece by piece. She had never wavered, never looked at Jessica like she was something unnatural, something wrong.

Jessica had trusted Olivia with her life more times than she could count. And she wasn’t about to stop now.

Olivia swallowed, composing herself before turning back to the screen. “Then let’s find out when it started.”

---

They fed video feeds into the AI software, stripping away distractions and focusing on speech patterns, microexpressions, and cadence. The program built a timeline, running a comparison of every available public appearance of the President over the last five years.

The early years were normal. At first, there were only small shifts in tone, natural aging, minor inconsistencies. All were expected variations. But then, about eight months ago, something changed.

Jessica narrowed her eyes. “Pause it.”

Olivia clicked the keyboard, freezing the timeline.

Jessica watched the screen. The AI flagged a shift in his microexpressions, most prominently a slower blink rate, delayed smile onset, and a sudden alignment between emotional cadence and archival phrasing. It was subtle, but statistically impossible to ignore. The President wasn’t reacting. He was reciting.

“Right there.” Jessica pointed. “That’s the break.”

The President had been at a private summit. The footage was grainy, but the shift was there. It was subtle but undeniable.

Leanna leaned in, studying the data. “So whatever happened, it happened around that time.”

Olivia exhaled. “And now we figure out why.”

Jessica left the room without a word, the glow of the AI screen still burning in her mind. It wasn’t just Olivia’s hunch anymore. It was a fracture in reality, a scripted glitch she couldn’t unsee. And there was only one person she trusted to talk her down when the truth got too sharp.

---

Later that night, Jessica sat across from Sam at a quiet seaside restaurant, the waves breaking gently against the shore. She toyed with her drink, watching condensation bead along the glass.

Sam studied her. “You’ve got that look.”

Jessica smirked. “What look?”

“The one where you’ve figured something out, and you don’t like it.”

She exhaled, leaning back. “Olivia’s right. Something’s wrong with the President.”

Sam didn’t react immediately. He took a slow sip of whiskey, then set his glass down. “What kind of wrong?”

Jessica hesitated. “The kind that makes you wonder if he’s even the same person.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You think someone got to him?”

Jessica shook her head. “I don’t know what to think.” She drummed her fingers against the table. “You ever wonder if you’re really you?”

Sam’s gaze sharpened. “You mean, have I ever questioned whether I’m in control of my own thoughts?”

Jessica gave him a small, humorless smile. “Something like that.”

He considered it, then nodded. “Yeah. But I also know the only way to fight that kind of doubt is to decide who you are, every damn day.” He held her gaze. “Who are you, Jess?”

She swallowed, feeling something tighten in her chest.

“I’m someone who trusts Olivia,” she said finally.

Sam nodded, as if that was the only answer he needed.

---

Later, back at his place, the ocean breeze drifted through the open window. Jessica lay beside him, staring at the ceiling, her mind restless.

Sam shifted, his voice low. “You’re thinking too much.”

She huffed a quiet laugh. “When am I not?”

He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Get some sleep, Jess.”

She closed her eyes, breathing in the salt and silence. Tomorrow, the war continued. But tonight, she was still Jessica, whatever that meant.