I didn't watch it.
I sat there for what felt like a full minute with my hand hovering over the trackpad, heart slamming against my ribs, and then I did the only thing I could actually make myself do. I closed the laptop. Not slowly. Fast, hard enough that Harlow stirred in her sleep across the room, and I sat there in the sudden dark clutching it to my chest like it might try to open itself back up.
I didn't sleep much after that.
By the time Thursday's session rolled around, I told myself I was fine. I told myself the whole thing was a fluke, a bad algorithm suggestion, nothing that needed to happen again. I even believed it, mostly, right up until I opened my laptop in room 214 and the browser restored my old tabs automatically, the way it always did, and there it was again, same thum
