Millie shrinks back. “But my followers,” she pleads, hating the panic in her voice. “It’s just, I maintain a pretty strict regimen of content creation because the algorithm favors regularity, and...” She trails off when it becomes clear that this isn’t negotiable.
Beside her, Cate looks similarly ill at the prospect of surrendering her phone.
“I can’t,” she murmurs, cradling it against her chest. “I really need...” She hesitates. “... my music! All my music is on here. I can’t write without it.” Millie can’t help but feel betrayed. Why can’t the girl just admit that she’s addicted to socials too? So much for sisterhood.
“What an excellent opportunity to overcome that dependence,” says Eleanor, glancing around. “Laptops, tablets, and smartwatches, too,” she adds, and the room fills with fresh protests.
“What?”
“No way.”
“Anyform of digital technology,” she explains, “must be sealed in the safe for the duration of your stay.”
“How are we supposed to write? Byhand?” asks Cate.
Millie groans. “My handwriting is practically illegible.”
Which, okay, isn’t strictly true, she just hates writing by hand. Her pen can never keep up with her brain, and she ends up losing half her ideas before she can write them down.
Malcolm scoffs. “Can’t be worse than Sienna’s.” His wife rolls her eyes.
“I always write by hand,” announces Jaxon as he tugs a battered Moleskine from his back pocket. “It’s the only way to really getrealwith the work. It’s like going commando for your brain.”
Kenzo snorts. But he looks a little nervous as he loads his things into the yawning safe.
Even Sienna, who probably only uses Facebook, seems stressed by the prospect of giving up her phone. “We have a dog,” she says, clutching the cell. “He’s really old. I have to be available, in case something happens.”
“Don’t worry,” says Jaxon, “if something terrible happens to Sparky, you’d never get back home in time.”
Millie elbows him in the side as Kenzo says, “You don’t have to be a dick about it.”
Jaxon shrugs. “Not a dick if it’s true.”
“According to who?”
“I’m just pointing out basic geograph—”
Eleanor snaps her fingers and points to the waiting safe, and Sienna says, “Fine, fine, just let me tell the pet sitter...” She types something out, deletes, types again, then hitsSEND, shoves the phone onto the shelf, and backs away.
Millie looks down at her screen.
She wonders, briefly, if she should text Freya. But it’s been so long that that would probably be weird.
Priscilla’s the only one who doesn’t seem bothered; she just deposits a cell and pink laptop sleeve on the shelf. “Might finally break my late-night shopping habit,” she muses.
And then it’s down to Millie and Cate.
After a pained moment, Cate surrenders her phone to the safe. Along with a laptop, and a tablet. And then it’s just Millie, and everyone is waiting, and her chest is tightening under the weight of their attention.
“Okay, okay,” she says, coaxing herself.
As she sets her laptop and cell onto the shelf, she remembers the spare phone—it comes in handy for filming content—in the bottom of her bag. No one would expect her to have two phones; she could probably get away with keeping it. But then Eleanor looks right at her—maybe eventhroughher—and the expression on her face saysDo not disappoint me, Millie Mitchell. And before she knows it, she’s digging the secret cell out of her purse and setting it down with the rest.
And then the safe swings shut with a horriblethunk, and Millie feels wrong, too light, like she might float away.
“Arthur’s entire backlist is in the library,” Eleanor is saying. “And you’ll find everything you need to write the ending in your rooms.”
Millie registers the words, can hear the others moving about, heading for the door, but she can’t tear her eyes from the front of the safe as Fletch’s editor spins the lock on the front and the time on the screen blurs, red numbers rushing upward from minutes, to hours, todays.
