Page 91 of White Noise

Another seventy-five credits comes through.

D4ddyKev: counteroffer

That actually makes me laugh.

Not fake stream laughter.

Real fucking laughter.

Something in my chest loosens.

Graveyard tips next.

graveyardVIP: worried about you

“Oh, absolutely not. Do not start being emotionally healthy in my chat. I will ban you on principle.”

graveyardVIP: there she is

Angel sends fifty credits.

angelbite: insult me

I look directly into the lens with my best unimpressed expression. “You just paid me fifty credits to tell you you’re pathetic. Honestly, the transaction already did most of the work.”

Chat loses its mind.

For the first time in days, I settle into the rhythm without forcing it. Tips come in, requests stack up, and Kev complains that the socks are specifically designed to torment him until I inform him that thinking my wardrobe revolves around his foot fetish is exactly the kind of delusion money cannot fix.

He tips me another hundred.

Men are really fucking simple.

Morningstar pays to be ignored, so I answer everyone except him for almost five minutes before finally looking at the chat.

MORNINGSTAR_X: worth it

“You’re all deeply unwell.”

angelbite: says the woman charging us for attention

“That’s exactly why I’m qualified to diagnose you.”

For almost twenty minutes, VioletHex feels like herself again. Not completely, because I still glance too quickly when one monitor briefly dims, still notice Void’s username missing from the chat even though I wish I did not, and still tense whenever the speaker gives the occasional soft crackle, but those things start slipping into the background.

The room starts feeling like mine again.

Then I see his name.

Silas

No message or threat.

No dramatic fucking entrance.

Just his username sitting in the viewer list.

My smile stays exactly where it is, but something inside me drops anyway.