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New York Alano

10:03 a.m. (Eastern Daylight Time)

I love reading about other people, but I can’t read about myself. It’s too easy and unhealthy to absorb opinions that begin

to feel like facts even when they couldn’t be further from the truth. That’s why I avoid reading that clickbait article from

Spyglass, the tabloid press where Andrea Donahue sold the story of my first herald shift. I’m even angrier than last night

because I didn’t know this would be published by a pro-naturalist outlet, which is a bigger betrayal to the company. I can

only imagine the facts that have been sensationalized into lies because I’ll never read them.

But my father has.

We’re in his home office, where he’s working this morning. I’m taking the day off to try to rest, but he’s woken me up after

four hours of sleep to talk business.

“Do you know who did this?” Pa asks, holding up his tablet with the article.

I groggily stare at the plaque above his head, unable to face him. “No, sir.”

He pauses for so long that I look back to find him gripping the tablet like he might try to snap it in two. “Was it that herald beside you?”

At first I think he’s asking about Andrea Donahue, but he means Fausto Flores.

“No, sir. He was very nice.”

“What do you mean he was nice? He took an interest in you?”

I hate that someone getting close to me is grounds for suspicion in our family. “He was just being polite and helpful.”

“How can you be sure?” he asks.

Because I know for a fact who it was, but I can’t say that. “I’m trusting my gut.”

My father hurls the tablet against the wall, the shock of his violence waking me up. “Your gut is not good enough, Alano!

We are employing a traitor who is leaking stories to people who seek to undo us. I’ve been receiving calls all morning from

board members who are questioning your role, your strength, your future. All heralds will be summoned into the office this

evening for interrogation. If the culprit hasn’t been identified by midnight, then no one will enter that call center tonight,

even if that means firing everyone to make every last call myself.”