Page 113 of Don't Cross Mo Ellery

She hesitates. “I haven’t shown anyone these.”

“Why not?”

“You heard Eva and Reuben and Kenji when you came by. They say I’m too online and don’t protect myself. And these messages prove they’re right. But I needhelp, not fucking scolding.”

That would explain why they were all so weirdly upset with me when I came over thinking I had a stalker. They were upset with Hannah and taking it out on me.

Okay, that is not cool. They should be supporting her and helping her through this. And I suddenly see that Iamstill important. Even three romantic partners can’t take care of all your needs. Sometimes you still need a best friend.

“I know it’s scary, but you have to show them, Hannah,” I say gently. “And right now, you have to show me.”

Especiallya best friend who accidentally sort of has a lot of experience at detective work.

Hannah hands me her phone.

And as I scroll through her DMs, I can see just how many people Hannah’s reached. How public her life really is. How many people think they know her. It isn’t as cool as I imagined.

Then Hannah points out her thread with the stalker.

And holy shit, it’s intense. The person isn’t just spamming her, they’re obsessed. They know way too much about her.

Like... why is there a photo of the house Hannah grew up in? Facing Hannah’s old bedroom window?

I feel sick.

“That’s just the latest thread,” Hannah explains. “I’ve blocked them five times and they just open new accounts. But the words they use— It’s clearly all the same person.”

“Did you tell anyone that?”

She shakes her head. “I was so freaked out, I didn’t really want tobelieve it, myself. I told Kenji I’ve been getting weird messages, and he says I’m bound to have a few people who have a ‘parasocial relationship’ with me.” She shakes her head. “But you’re right—I need toshowhim the messages. This iswaybeyond just parasocial. Let me show you another one.”

She takes the phone back, and I feel mine buzz in my pocket, but I leave it alone. Right now, Han deserves my full attention.

I slide in next to her so she can show me more easily.

My phone buzzes again, and I ignore it again.

A lot of the messages in her DMs are about how much Hannah has made people’s lives better, but she’s right—all the stalkery ones are clearly the same person. Not just a fan. Not just a try-hard. There’s a forcefulness that’s unsettling. Hannah shows me a message where the person says they wish they could be inside her actual skin so they could make things happen the way she does.

Which, aside from beingsupericky, honestly feels like a threat.

The different avatars all lead to accounts with no pictures. None of them follow anyone else, and they have no followers of their own.

“You’re right,” I say. “This is really upsetting.”

“You believe me,” Hannah says, relief flooding her face as she starts crying.

“I’m sorry it took me this long,” I say, handing the phone back.

“I felt paranoid, but it’s so stressful, and it just doesn’tstop. Every time I block an account, a new one springs up.” She wipes her eyes, mascara smudging, and then scrolls again. “Here’s the latest message.”

I’m getting yet another text, and I subtly shove my shirttail in my back pocket to mute the buzzing while Hannah hands me her phone and slides out of the booth. “I need to wash my face.”

As she heads for the bathroom, I read the message on her screen and promptly forget how to breathe.

The message in the bubble reads:

Hannah Hawks you are my hero I need to hire you for personal coaching I’ll give you $11,500.