Page 5 of Make Them Cry
He heads out of the office, and I wish I could follow him. However, I’ve got work to do. I toss a stick of Misfit chewing gum into my mouth. Before I can even wake my computer, Ryan Carmine appears at my desk.
He’s alone.
Usually, he’s flanked by his two shadows, Alan and Benny, all three of them snickering like high schoolers behind a locker. But today, it’s just him.
“Did you find the error?” he asks casually, leaning a hand on the edge of my cubicle wall like we’re old friends. His tone is light, but there’s something slick about the way he says it. Like there’s a double meaning I’m missing.
I blink up at him. “Which error?”
He shrugs. “The one in theRogueframephysics engine. You were in the build last night, right? Around 2 a.m.?”
My heart gives a little stutter. He knows I was working late? That’s not weird on its own—our system tracks log-ins—but something about the way he’s smiling makes my skin crawl.
I keep my voice neutral. “There’s a dozen small errors we’ve been tracking in that build. Be more specific.”
Ryan tilts his head and does this slow, theatrical blink like he’sso amused. “No worries. I just thought maybe you’d want a second pair of eyes on it. Some things can be… hard to catch. Especially when you’re multitasking.”
I squint, blow a quick bubble, then bite it back in.
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
“I’m good,” I say. My fingers move to the mouse, subtly waking up the screen like I’m about to get busy.
But Ryan doesn’t move. He just smirks, leans in a fraction closer, and lowers his voice.
“You’re really killing it lately, you know? Big boss man always nearby. New projects. Rapid promotions.” He lets out a low chuckle. “Almost like you’ve got cheat codes.”
I freeze.
That’s when I get it.
This isn’t aboutRogueframe. This is aboutme.
“You got something to say, Ryan?” I ask, keeping my tone flat, icy.
He straightens and flashes me a toothy grin. “Nope. Just here to offer my help. We’re all on the same team, right?”
Then, with a wink that makes my stomach twist, he walks off—whistling a tune I don’t recognize. His shoulders bounce with a smug confidence that makes me want to throw something.
I stare at my screen, fists clenched in my lap. I can’t keep living like this. I open a browser tab and stare at the search bar.
I typehow to hire a private security guardand delete it. I typeonline harassment helpand get a wall of cheerful articles with stock photos of women laughing with laptops. I click one. It suggests taking a bath and journaling about my feelings.
I open a new tab. I think about how stupid this is, and how scared I am, and how HR gave me a worksheet about mindfulness.
“Don’t,” I tell myself, even as my fingers move. “Don’t be this girl.”
I’m this girl.
I go to an app store and buy the cheapest VPN with the most aggressive logo. I download it. A cartoon shield winks at me like we’re in on something together. I flip it on and the little key icon floats to the top of my screen like a halo.
It makes me feel safe for exactly half a second.
In the search bar, I type:how to hire a vigilante.
I stare at the words. They look like a joke I’m not brave enough to tell out loud.
I hit enter.
