"I'll wait! Your aunt said you finish filming at six! We can have our first combat-date then!"
I escape into the building before she can elaborate on what exactly a combat-date involves. Marcus keeps pace, practically jogging to match my stride.
"Dude, your family's intense." he says.
"You have no idea."
"Also, heads up. There's some weird energy on set today. Couple of producers having heated conversations in corners. Trinity's segment got moved up without explanation."
"Where is she?"
"Hair and makeup, but she's pissed. Said something about her bakery's Instagram getting flooded with bot comments about health code violations."
I stop walking. "When did this start?"
"This morning, I think? She was showing me during breakfast. Hundreds of comments, all posted within an hour window, all saying basically the same thing about rats and roaches."
Sabotage. Professional, coordinated sabotage targeting Trinity's business directly.
"I need to see her phone."
"She's got it with her."
I change direction, heading for the makeup wing. Marcus follows, silent now, probably sensing this isn't casual concern anymore.
Trinity's in the third chair, some assistant working on her hair while she scrolls through her phone with increasing agitation. Her expression shifts when she sees me—relief mixed with frustration.
"Tell me you saw it."
"Just heard. Show me."
She hands over the phone. The Instagram feed for Lewis & Daughter Bakery is a mess. Comment after comment, all variations on the same theme:Health inspector should check this place,Saw a rat in the kitchen,Friend got food poisoning from their cinnamon rolls.
I scroll further. The pattern's obvious once you're looking for it. Fake accounts, generated within hours of each other,all following similar naming conventions. Numbers instead of letters, generic profile pictures, zero followers.
"This is professional," I say.
"Professional sabotage of my small-town bakery? Who'd bother?"
"Someone who wants you off this show. Someone with resources and motivation."
"The producers wouldn't tank their own contestant."
"Not the producers. Someone connected to the show who benefits from you failing."
Trinity's makeup artist clears her throat. "Should I... give you privacy?"
"Yes," Trinity and I say simultaneously.
The woman leaves. Trinity stands, snatching her phone back. "You think it's another contestant?"
"Or someone attached to one. An agent, maybe. Someone who sees you as competition."
"For what? Korgan, this is a reality show, not the Olympics."
"You're likeable. Authentic. The audience loves you." I pull out my own phone, start typing notes. "That makes you dangerous to someone who's invested in a different outcome."
"You sound paranoid."
