“Oh my God,” Delilah gasped.
“Judas didnotrebrand as a tradwife,” Hudson said. “No fucking way.”
The next post was a video of a stunning cityscape view. Vibrating with a deep-seated feeling of betrayal, I slid my screen brightness all the way up and studied every aspect of the video. In the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling windows, I couldmake out two figures: Lorelei in a shimmering silver gown, her frame even thinner than before she left, and a man standing directly behind her, tall and lean, his face eerily obscured by shadow. Unlike her previous posts, the video was strangely and intentionally edited to be grainy and dark. She was flaunting a life shrouded in mystery.
And the caption ironically read,Authenticity is the only way up.
“What is she trying to sell?” Delilah asked, now loudly munching on almonds as she queued up a coffee pod. “Is there a link in her bio? Maybe to an abundance mindset course?”
Saying nothing, I shook my head. There was no link. Hudson kept glancing at me, and my lips sank into a heavy frown. Even Inara looked concerned, which was a difficult emotion for cats to feel toward others.
The last post was a black square, no caption. I almost scrolled away before I realized it was a video.
At the thirty-second mark, in a quick flash, a symbol appeared in the center of the grainy black void. It was so quick, I nearly missed it.
A circle.
2
NOVA
“Well, how am I possibly supposed to writenow?” I yelled over the sound of our coffee machine imitating a spaceship liftoff.
“This changes nothing,” Hudson said, tilting his head as he threw me a pointed look. “Let Judas carry on with her new lifestyle influencer content slop grind, bankrolled by Mr. Alpha Daddy. After everything she said to us—toyouespecially—she’s not worth the rent-free access to your mind. Her rent’s already paid for. Ours is not. Get to work.”
With that, Hudson grabbed his coffee, turned on his heel, and left the kitchen.
“Wait—aren’t you curious about what her latest post meant? What about the ad for The Circle? You never said if you’d seen it before.”
Hudson paused, his hand on his bedroom doorknob. “Nova. You’re sounding a little scary right now. No, I haven’t seen that random PicWave ad for a new tantric yoga studio or a Soho House knockoff or whatever the fuck. Lorelei is not as interesting or as mysterious as you’re making her sound. I’mgoing to need you to take off the tinfoil hat. I love you, but you need to drop it. Gowrite.”
Okay, so maybe I did sound alittleunhinged. I could take constructive criticism. They were probably right. Lorelei was just soft-launching an online business selling essential oils and delusions. Her algorithms had always skewed a bit woo-woo.
But how could she use such religious language without wanting to puke? How could she give all of herself to these men after everything we left behind?
She really was Judas. And because I didn’t want to confront the grief of her betrayal, I stewed in resentment instead. Delilah hummed, completely oblivious to the storm brewing in our cozy living space.
I peeled off to my room, where, instead of writing, I searched @O on PicWave.
No results found.
“You’re joking,” I muttered to myself. Inara jumped into my lap. “I’m almost done,” I told her. “And then, I will write.” She stared up at me, slowly reaching a paw to my face. “I will play with you, and then I will write.”
I clicked back to my regular account and scrolled. I was greeted by a barrage of Publisher’s Marketplace deal announcements. My stomach dropped, but I commented congratulations on a few posts, and I hit the like button on the others. I felt guilty for my own envy. A better person would be entirely excited for others without thinking about themselves. I was happy for them—I swore I was—but my excitement for my peers was undercut by my own frustrations. It was hard to watch everyone else ascend while I worked my ass off merely to stay where I was.
Every post and advertisement fought for my attention as I scrolled. I made a mental note of marketing trends and hooks working well for other cozy romance authors, ones like me whodidn’t write spicy sex scenes. I groaned, thinking about how I hadn’t posted in three days. My sales rankings reflected it. Maybe I’d feel better if I booked a massage at the new location in Williamsburg—book nowflashed in inviting pink letters. Or maybe I should go dancing with friends at a bar an influencer was promoting in Tribeca. Was she actually having a good time, or was she smiling about the new deposit in her bank account?
Were any of us having a good time on these apps anymore? Had we ever been having a good time?
Finally, I found what I was looking for.
Feeling like a sucker, I clickedlearn moreon the bottom of the black square.
“This didn’t work on me,” I whispered to my screen. “I just need you to know that. I am only clicking because I am conducting an investigation.”
It was important that the billionaire tech overlords listening to me through my phone understood I was not merely a gullible cog in the hive mind machine, but I was actually an exceptionally discerning critical thinker. This was also what I told myself when I clocked in an entire second job’s worth of screen time a week. Or rather, a fourth job, considering being an author was at least three different jobs in one.
The link took me to a website just as non-descript as the post itself. In the center of the black screen, a button readinitiate.At the top of the page was a silver-scaled ouroboros, eating itself in a perfect circle.
