She imagines her mother’s voice rattling in her head: Make good choices. Be a good girl. Was that possible to do all the time? Make every choice right in the heat of the moment or when you didn’t have complete information? She was helping a friend out of the worst mess of his life at the worst time of his life. Wasn’t that a good choice?

She feels uneasy. But now she’s done what she’s done and all with good intentions, and she believes that will be enough.

Ned could go collect his father, and then he would thank her. She’ll catch him some rare, cool Critter in the game, in case he’s mad, and he’ll get over it. Mom would say quit worrying so much about what a boy thinks, but Ned isn’t just a boy; he’s special. He’s worth fighting for.

Julia opens Critterscape on her phone, logged in under her own account…wondering if the game is going to feel ruined for her now, since they were playing it when they found Danielle on the park bench. The digital world appears: a delightful little glade, with a road that mirrors the street were her house is, and instead of murdered neighbors and troubled handsome boys and annoying parents, it’s all sparkles and whimsy. Little creatures appear—a dancing pink dinosaur, a purple cat, a wood elf—and she uses her Critter nets to capture them, to rack up points, to add to her Critter zoo. For a few moments she forgets the nightmare. Then a little hand appears in the corner of the screen—she has a message from another player.

She clicks on the hand.

The first message is the one she sent out from Ned’s account, to all his friends, including her. The second message is one she hasn’t seen.

She doesn’t have a ton of friends in the game, but she doesn’t recognize this player name: MagickMan. She pages through her friends list: no, he’s there. They’ve never exchanged game gifts or Critters, and she doesn’t remember adding him. He shouldn’t be on her friends list. But he is. Ned must have added him. He has her password.

She opens the message.

I think you wrote that message from our friend, Julia.

Her breath catches in her chest. Her game name is Pollittesse; you’d have to know her personally to know Pollittesse is Julia Pollitt.

She messages back: Who is this?

The blinking palm tells her this player is active and writing her back. Then the message:

You two don’t just quit on me.

She stares at the phone, cold. You two. Like she was part of this. She’s not. She writes in the message screen: Leave him alone. He can’t do this anymore.