The blue glow from my laptop screen was the only light in the room, and it felt harsh, like a cold finger poking at my tired eyes.
The message on the screen was a nightmare in plain text: "Enter the name of the one you’re willing to lose, if you dare open the file."
I felt a lump in my throat that I couldn't swallow. Who would I even type? My father? Daniel? The very thought made my stomach do a sick little flip. It felt like a sick game, the kind a bully plays before they push you down.
Then, a thought hit me, sharp and cold. This wasn’t a password. It was a trap. Daniel had told me once that the most dangerous doors are the ones that ask you to identify yourself before they open. If I typed a name, any name, I was telling a computer somewhere exactly where Jane Riley was sitting.
I
