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She groans. “People are wrong.”

“The people have spoken.”

“Your followers have spoken.”

“Democracy is beautiful.”

“That isn’t how democracy works.”

“Sounds like something a loser would say.”

She laughs. I smile and click back to my personal account. I shared the poll on both accounts.

James watched the poll, too.

“Okay, this is weird.”

“What?”

“I have a stalker.”

There’s a pause. Then Violet sighs. “Callie.”

“What?”

“Please tell me you haven't found another strange man.”

“I haven't found the first one.” The words come out lighter than they feel.

She’s silent.

I immediately regret saying it.

“What stalker?” she asks, her voice gentler.

“Some random Instagram account. No picture, no posts, no followers. Created this month. He liked one of my old posts, unliked it, and now he keeps watching my Stories.”

“Block him.”

“But then I won't find out who he is.”

“That's generally the point of blocking someone.”

“I’m curious.”

“You're always curious. That's how you ended up stitching a possible hitman on your couch.”

“He needed help.”

“And then you slept with him.”

“He needed that, too.”

“Callie.”

“What? You weren't there.”

“I’m hanging up.”