Page 218 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

“Archived systems,” I repeat.

Jeffrey nods. “Megan’s aircraft framework is in archived development.”

“Yes.”

The room tilts by a degree no one else would notice.

I sit down slowly.

Jeffrey watches me. “Say something.”

“Show me.”

He opens the folder and pulls out printed logs, because he knows me well enough to understand that when the world becomes unstable, I trust paper. Screens can shift. Paper forces sequence.

He lays them across the desk.

Access request. Redirect attempt. Blocked privilege escalation. Time-stamped pings routed through Bryce’s patch.

My company’s current AI demo wasn’t the only target.

“Ethan.”

“He planted it?”

Even saying the words feels wrong.

Jeffrey exhales slowly. “The code says he did.”

“He offered to help, and he planted it.” Jeffrey says nothing. “He was in my home.”

“I know.”

Anger comes then, clean and hot enough to burn through the numbness. I welcome it. Anger is easier than grief. Anger has direction. Anger moves.

I stand too quickly, chair rolling back and hitting the wall. “What the hell is he doing?”

Jeffrey doesn’t flinch. “That’s the question.”

“No.” I grab my phone. “The question is whether he answers before I find him.”

The screen lights up. Fourteen missed calls. Messages stacked over messages. Sara. Legal. Jeffrey. Addy.

No Bryce.

I call him anyway.

It rings seven times, then cuts to voicemail.

I call again.

Same result.

Jeffrey watches me with the expression of a man witnessing a disaster land exactly where he feared it would. “Ethan.”

I lower the phone slowly. “He’s ignoring me.”

“That’s not exactly a confession.”