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"What kind of something?"

"My computer would crash."

"Your phone?"

"Would restart."

"Anything else?"

"Sometimes I heard someone outside."

The answer sends a chill through me.

"Someone?"

"I never saw anyone."

"Then how do you know?"

He swallows.

"I just did."

I don't like that answer. Not because I think he's lying. Because I believe him. And I’m unclear why.

I turn back toward my computer.

"Show me."

"What?"

"Your phone."

He hands it over. I scroll through the messages again. The missing calls. The strange timestamps. Then I notice something I missed before. A text message. Sent three days ago. From Morrow. To Timothy Valentine.

I found her.

My breath catches.

"What?"

Morrow leans forward.

"I didn't send that."

I look at him.

"What?"

"I never typed that."

The message sits there. Timestamped. Delivered. Impossible.

"Who is her?" I ask.

Morrow's face changes.

"I don't know."