“Eli, put your phone away,” his mother said.

“In a second, Mom.”

Cora was licking stray batter off the floor.

The next text said, Svetlana saw it and I told her what it was.

“Can I have the syrup?” his sister said.

Another buzz: Just found out she was hit by a car.

“What’s so important with you right now?” his father asked, picking Cora up and moving her to the other side of his chair.

Buzzed again: Device did it.

Who’s coming to get it?

“Eli,” his father said. “Phone. Away. Now.”

How would the device cause an accident like that?

“In a second, Dad.”

He took a few deep breaths and thought it through. He didn’t know Svetlana, really, just knew she was another gymnastics type.

He wrote, Slow down. I’ll come meet you.

She wrote back, Come NOW or I will smash it to pieces. Wait for me at the coffee place by the Mount Sinai ER entrance.

I’m on my way, he wrote.

Eden popped in: Me, too.

Another text—this one from Marwan and just to him and Eden: Is this for real?

Eli wrote, About to find out.

“I’m sorry,” Eli said, grabbing a pancake and standing up. “But I’ve got to go.”

“Go where?” his father asked.

“A friend needs my help,” he said, and he left, ignoring his father’s protests and Cora’s barking.

I can’t get away right now, Marwan wrote. Keep me posted.

Eden wrote, We will.

The hospital was maybe a ten-minute walk up Crescent Street. Eli crossed streets with unusual caution even though he knew it was crazy. The device wasn’t even close—yet—and also it couldn’t possibly have caused an accident.

Though it had hacked into a traffic camera for Marwan.

Could it do the same with traffic lights? But how could it rely on a car to arrive at just the right time?

A man walking in front of him stopped at a poster taped to a streetlight—ripped the flyer down, crumpled it up, and tossed it in a nearby trash can. Curious, Eli plucked it from the trash and opened it up again. It was posted by the local police precinct and asked for information leading to the arrest of any of the vandals or perpetrators of hate crimes in the neighborhood. There was a tip line number to call. Lit with rage, Eli caught up to the man who had torn it down at the corner.

“Hey,” he said. “Why did you take this down?”

“None of your business,” the guy said.

“No, I want to know. You think it’s okay? Everything that’s happening?”

The guy was white and built, and Eli had a moment of regret over engaging—was he going to get beat up?—but it was too late now.