The red light on the microphone turns on with a sharp click.

  This new laptop doesn’t make a sound. No hum. No whine. Nothing. The screen glows with an almost obscene sharpness. It’ll take some getting used to.

  The live viewer counter starts climbing, from zero to four.

  “Good evening everyone, and welcome to Talking Nonsense,” Carmen says in her usual tone, the one that sounds professionally trained. “My name is Carmen Hale, and as always, I’m joined by my inseparable partner in this communication project, Elena Voss.”

  I switch the stream camera and smile.

  “Good evening—!”

  I stop short. The new microphone gives a brief feedback squeal.

  “Everything okay, Elena?”

  “Yeah, sorry. New gear. Impulsive attack on someone else’s credit card. Didn’t have time to configure everything yet.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  I realize what I just said a second too late. Carmen tilts her head.

  “Someone else’s as in family, ex, or ‘we’re not discussing this live’?”

  “Someone else’s as in ‘don’t ask and keep the show going‘.”

  “Works for me,” she says. “Noted for after the stream.”

  I clear my throat and start again. Without noticing, my hand rests on the obsidian pendant Elisabeth gave me.

  “Good evening, campus! Another night in this uneven fight against the algorithm,” I glance at the counter, “we’re up to eight viewers now. We’re improving.”

  Carmen tilts her head and looks at me through the camera. I know that look. I brace myself.

  “You look different,” she says.

  “Different how?”

  “Like you didn’t sleep… or like you discovered the positive effects of wine.”

  I can’t help but laugh.

  “That’s very specific.”

  “It’s my gift. Reading people who say they’re ‘fine.’”

  I make a face. Carmen instinctively raises her eyebrows several times.

  “Are you going to psychoanalyze me live?”

  “No,” she replies. “Today we have other topics for the show—but we’ll continue later, Elena Voss.”

  “Ha. We’ll continue later,” I concede.

  “And that’s how you get the juicy details: patience.”

  The chat scrolls. Two messages appear almost at the same time.

  I freeze for a second.

  I read the usernames again.

  A week ago, I didn’t know if I would keep doing this.

  An hour ago, I didn’t know if I’d be able to sit in front of a microphone without shaking.

  I breathe.

  I can’t help but smile.