Page 58 of Override

Me:

Friend.

The response sends before common sense can intervene.

I physically recoil afterward.

“What is wrong with you?” That was weird. That was objectively weird.

The audio feed crackles softly through the headphones and then—Maeve laughs. Quiet. Real. Like she can't quite believe it either.

The sound hits me square in the chest hard enough to stop me mid-step.

“Oh no,” I whisper.

Because that—that right there—that’s dangerous.

Not the texting. Not the surveillance.

The laugh.

The fact that hearing it immediately makes something in me loosen for the first time all night.

Then softly through the mic, barely audible:

“I don’t have friends.”

The words are quiet enough they almost don’t sound real.

Something twists painfully beneath my ribs before I can stop it.

My fingers move again.

Me:

You do now.

The message sends.

I close my eyes immediately.

“Jesus Christ.”

At this point I should probably just light myself on fire and save everyone time.

The apartment feels unbearably warm now, walls too close, while I pace another tight line across the hardwood floor.

One-two-three-four. Turn. One-two-three-four.

My fingers tap rapidly against my thigh again.

Because this—this is spiraling.

Fast.

The burner vibrates again.

Unknown: