Page 58 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
The new Be Seen branding I fought Ethan for is front and center.
You aren’t broken. You’re just buffering.
I navigate to the Echo Chamber, the anonymous forum where users can post thoughts into the void and see who resonates. The feed is active. It’s midnight, the peak time for the lonely.
User774: I just want someone to ask me how my day was and actually care about the answer.
NeonSky: My apartment’s too quiet. I forgot what my own voice sounds like.
I stare at the words. Real people. Real loneliness. I type into the text box.
Red: I made a mistake. I chose safety over happiness, and now I feel like I’m grieving something I never really had.
I hesitate. It’s too honest. But that’s the point of the app, isn’t it? Radical honesty. I hit Post.
A few seconds later, a notification pops up. A reply.
Ghost_Protocol: Safety is a lie. Grief is just a data point. It tells you what’s worth keeping.
My breath catches. Ghost_Protocol. I click on the profile. No photo. No bio. Just an account created at the very beginning of the alpha test.
It sounds like Asher. But Asher wouldn’t be on the forum at midnight. Asher would be sleeping in twenty-minute bursts.
Maybe it’s Ethan.
The thought sends a shiver down my spine. Ethan, sitting alone in his glass penthouse, staring at a screen.
I type back.
Red: What if what matters is something I can’t have?
The three dots appear. The user’s typing.
Ghost_Protocol: Then you change the parameters of the simulation.
I stare at the screen. It’s cryptic. It’s logical. It’s cold comfort. I close the app.
I feel less alone, but more terrified. Because whoever Ghost_Protocol is, they’re right. I can’t have Owen. I can’t have any of them.
And if I want to survive this job, I’ve got to change the parameters. I’ve got to become untouchable.
Walking into Mosaic on Monday morning feels like walking into a courtroom where I’m both the defendant and the witness.
I’m wearing my armor. Black pencil skirt. White silk blouse, buttoned to the collar. Blazer. My hair is pulled back so tight it’s giving me a headache.
I swipe my badge at the turnstile. It beeps green.
I step into the elevator. Sarah is already there, scrolling on her phone.
“Morning, Tess,” she yawns. “Did you have a good weekend?”
“Quiet,” I say instantly. “Very quiet. You?”
“Wild,” she grins. “Found a new speakeasy. Though I think the ethanol content in their gin was questionable. Hey, did you see Owen?”
My pulse spikes. “No. Why?”
“He’s in early,” Sarah says, the doors sliding open on our floor. “And he’s… weird. He’s wearing a tie. Owen never wears a tie unless we’re meeting the board.”
