's

on fire. Being a viral skeptic is one thing, but being the woman c

lly migrating across my nightstand. I didn't e

? Caught in a clinch with the Code-King himself. Blink t

ragging myself out of bed. "

't a knock; it was a rhythmi

blet. He stepped into my apartment, his eyes immediately scanning my messy living room-the stacks of r

ulian said, his lip curling slightly a

try it between updates." I crossed my arms

photo from last night was a 'leak.' Today, we take control of the nar

lly color-graded, my messy rib-eating nowhere in sight. The caption read: The algorithm didn't just

not a caption; that's a bug report. If I post th

ted. "The AI predicted a 92% positive sen

me being mocked into oblivion." I snatched his pho

s a sink full of dishes. I grabbed a selfie of us-Julian looking stif

sn't know how to handle a woman who drinks milk straight from the

for the phone. "There's a dirty spatula in th

obot-Man!" I hit 'Post'

ds, the comm

ace! He looks like he's cal

Clark and Julian Vane? The enemies

t is through the roof. People don't want '

s thumb hovering over the comme

softened my voice just a fraction. "If you want the board to believe

'Social Media War' felt very quiet. The distance between us in my crampe

ered, his eyes searching mine for

'glitch' again. "But you're stuck with me for t

ed by his phone blarin

ked. "Another 'm

s. They saw the post. They've called an emergency meeting to discuss

purse. "Well then, let'

at the 'dirty spatula' in the sink-or the small, almost imper

but the algorithm was def