Page 34 of Make Them Cry

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There’s a blinking red light in the corner of the safe house kitchen.

Small. Almost invisible.

But once I notice it, Ican’t stop noticing it.

I lift my eyes slowly, scanning the room. The shelves. The nondescript lamp. The ceiling corner near the fridge.

How many of these little things are watching me?

And why… why don’t Ihateit?

I should. Ishouldbe furious that some masked man installed cameras and is now watching me like I’m his own personal surveillance experiment. It’s weird. Invasive. Creepy, even.

But it doesn’tfeelcreepy.

It feels… safe.

And I don’t know what to do with that.

Later, I’m curled up on the oversized chair with a mug of tea. My phone buzzes on the arm of the chair.

The notifications are endless now—mentions, reposts, comment threads that refuse to die.

Even with Mason fired, the storm keeps swirling. The deepfake interview’s still out there. And every time it starts to quiet down, someone kicks the hornet’s nest again.

I scroll past a particularly vicious thread and then… pause.

And without giving myself time to second-guess, I open the private message thread I have with Mask.

ME:Are you watching me right now?

It takes a minute. Just long enough to make me feel ridiculous for even asking.

Then…

MASK:Yes.

That one word short-circuits my entire nervous system.

My cheeks heat. I press the back of my hand to them, like that’ll help.

ME:Is that not a little… stalker-ish?

MASK:If I were stalking, you’d never know.

MASK:I’m protecting.

My heart flutters, and I hate how easily that happens now. How effortlessly this man—thisshadow—makes me feel like I matter.

Like I’m not alone in this war.

ME:Why do you care so much? Aboutme?

There’s a long pause this time. I sip the tea and tell myself not to stare at the screen. Not to care.

Then—

MASK:Because they made you feel small.

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