Chapter 13: The Wired Phone

Garner's POV

I sat on the edge of my rented couch in Portland and typed my password into the account for the ninth time.

The screen gave me the same answer.

Owner: Bree Hollander.

I called her and got her voicemail, bright and warm, the way it had always been.

I did not leave a message.

I had no idea what I would have said.

For eight years I had stood in front of a lens and said the sign-off.

For eight years Bree had told me what I was good at.

You're the face, Garner.

You're the one they trust.

I had believed her because it was nice to believe.

I opened my phone settings to look for the channel's login screen.

I wanted to be sure I hadn't done something stupid.

That was how I found the profile.

It was near the bottom, under Device Management, with a plain gray icon.

It was called WW Studio Support.

I knew exactly when it had gone on.

Fourteen months ago I had dropped the phone in the lake at our friends' cabin.

Bree had taken it from my hand and said, "Give me ten minutes, I'll fix it."

She had.

She had also given herself my microphone, my location and every message I sent.

I stared at the list of what it could see.

Then I opened the voice memo folder, where there were two hundred files I had never recorded.

They were all dated.

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