One evening in late June, Quinn asks me, “Are you still angry at Tom?” Much to his chagrin, I’ve moved my collaging out of the bedroom and into the living room, our carpet speckled now with paper and glue, eyes and ears.

“I am. I’m madder than ever. I’m mad at Odilie, too. I’m mad at this ruthless Big Tech fraternity that protects men like Tom. I’m mad that I did nothing wrong and I’m still jobless because of the way our society treats women who dare to have possession over their own sexuality. I have so much rage that I could go light a fire with it, extinguish this entire city with one exhaled breath.”

Quinn kneels beside me. “So you think I’m doing the right thing, pursuing this story?”

I drop my tools, look him in the eye. “The only thing stopping me from creating a crater in this earth is this demented snipping. Of course I want you to continue. Anything to help me move on.” And he nods obediently, goes back to his room to do more research, I presume.

It’s all true, this rage, this anger. And I’m happy that Quinn has this fire lit under him. But as I spiral deeper into myself, into my art, it occurs to me that the end result should be about me, not SNAPea. That at the end of the day, whatever Quinn finds, my redemption should be top priority, the theme of the piece. I should be the one to reap the most benefit from the article. I’m the one who found the photo, who led him on this journey after all. In a way, he owes me.

He’s looking for Peri now. But she’s nowhere, not as Thelma, either. I remember Brandon Newburn saying she had a name like a Greek goddess, if that was even the same girlfriend he was talking about, but Quinn can’t find anything on that lead, either. It’s like she dated Tom and disappeared, like he made her disappear.

Out of desperation, I text Page and ask her to ask Jackson what Peri’s last name was. She tells me he doesn’t know who I’m talking about and I want to slap myself for not asking him at the time. If I were to ask him myself now, I’m sure I’d get the same answer. He’s protecting her, and Quinn and I are following a map that’s already been torn to bits. Quinn hasn’t given up, though. He says he’s going to track her down, and I believe him.