Ethan was sitting at the desk, the laptop screen glowing on his face. He looked exhausted. The desk was covered with papers and takeout containers.
His phone was plugged in beside him. But what froze me were the tabs open on his screen—dozens of them.
I squinted to see clearer: email inboxes, payment platforms, messages, and a photo of a young boy—maybe 12—smiling in front of a science fair project. My breath caught.
Before I could stop myself, I whispered, “Ethan?”
He jolted as if he’d touched an electric fence, spinning in his chair so fast he nearly knocked over his coffee mug.
“Anna?
What are you doing up?” His voice cracked with surprise.
“I could ask you the same thing. What the hell is going on here?!”
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