Henry sits at the laptop, his focus unwavering as the screen's glow reflects off his glasses. His fingers hover over the keyboard, refreshing the inbox for what feels like the hundredth time. He's waiting—for a response, for something that confirms Elijah's message wasn't some cruel hoax. The room is quiet except for the faint hum of the computer, but Henry's anticipation fills the air like static electricity, each second stretching into eternity as his nerves fray.

The quiet is abruptly broken. "Hey, you've been on that thing long enough," Austin's voice cuts through the tension like a knife. Henry turns to see Austin leaning against the wall, his reddish-blonde hair tousled, his bare chest rising and falling with barely restrained impatience. The flickering lights of the room cast shifting shadows across his face, accentuating the frustration in his hazel eyes. "Let me check for a reply from Serena."

Henry frowns, his initial instinct to argue clashing with the understanding that Austin won't let this go. "Fine," he says reluctantly, his tone clipped as he gets out of the desk chair. "Just don't mess with anything."

Austin doesn't even bother thanking him. He takes the desk chair with the air of someone who feels entitled to it, his long fingers clacking against the laptop's keyboard as he begins typing furiously. "It's been days," Austin mutters under his breath, barely audible. "She has to have said something by now."

Henry watches him for a moment, a pang of annoyance flaring in his chest. It's not like Austin's relationship problems are more important than... well, potentially finding a way out of this nightmare. Still, Henry bites back a retort, deciding instead to grab a book from the nearby shelf and settle onto the couch. The leather creaks softly under his weight as he flips the pages aimlessly, his eyes skimming over the text without absorbing a single word. His mind is elsewhere, spiraling through scenarios of what Elijah might say—or worse, what he might not say. What if Elijah never responds? What if...

The thought is cut off by the unmistakable sound of Austin groaning in frustration.

"Where are you?" Austin hisses at the screen, his fingers drumming against the table's edge. He clicks repeatedly, as though willing Serena's name to appear in his inbox through sheer force of will.

Henry sighs and forces his eyes back to the book, though the words blur together. His ears remain tuned to the faint hum of the laptop, every click from Austin's impatient hands setting his teeth on edge. What if Elijah's response comes through now and Austin misses it? The idea gnaws at him, each second stretching unbearably long as his frustration builds. He tries to shake it off, telling himself he's overthinking... but the tension in his chest refuses to subside.

In the kitchen, Sam and Lynne are busy preparing dinner. The clatter of pots and pans fills the space as they work together to make spaghetti and meatballs. Lynne pulls out a loaf of garlic bread, placing it carefully on a baking sheet, while Sam chops vegetables for a salad with swift, precise movements.

"Think Maddie will come out and help?" Lynne asks, glancing toward the hallway where Maddie's room is located.

Sam snorts, her blonde ponytail swaying as she shakes her head. "Doubt it. She's been holed up in there all day."

"Do you think she's... spying on us?" Lynne's voice drops to a whisper, her dark eyes wide with concern.

"If she is, she's not very good at it," Sam replies, her tone dry. "More likely she's just avoiding everyone."

Lynne bites her lip, unsure. "It's hard to know who to trust in here."

Sam looks at her, her blue eyes softening slightly. "Yeah, it is. But you don't have to figure it out alone."

They fall into a comfortable silence as they continue cooking. As they work, Sam finds herself asking a question that's been nagging at her. "That recording of your dad during the challenge... how do you think Mother got it?"

Lynne freezes for a moment before resuming her task. "I don't know. But it felt too real. Like she... she knew exactly how to hurt me."

"What was the deal with your dad, anyway?" Sam asks, her tone casual but her curiosity genuine. "Why was he so hard on you?"

Lynne sighs, her shoulders slumping. "He's always had high expectations. Ever since I was little, he pushed me to be perfect. Especially in dance. I started lessons when I was four, and it's been nonstop ever since."

"And your mom?" Sam asks, glancing at Lynne.

"She's... different," Lynne says, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "She's supportive but not as intense as my dad. She wants me to follow my dreams, whatever they are."

"And what are they?" Sam asks.

Lynne hesitates, then admits, "I... I've always loved sports. Softball, especially."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "Softball? Doesn't exactly scream prima ballerina."

Lynne laughs softly. "Yeah, it doesn't. But I love it. I love the teamwork, the competition. It's... freeing."

Austin, still at the laptop, perks up at this revelation. He listens in silence, his interest piqued by Lynne's unexpected confession.

"You should go for it," Sam says firmly. "Don't let anyone tell you what you can or can't do."

Lynne smiles, but it's tinged with sadness. "It's not that simple. My family... they expect so much from me."

"Then show them you're more than their expectations," Sam says. "Prove to them you're your own person."

Lynne's smile widens slightly, and she glances at Sam. "What about you? What do you want to be?"

Sam's expression hardens, and she shrugs. "Nobody. Doesn't matter."

"You don't mean that," Lynne says softly. "Everyone has something."

Sam gives a bitter laugh. "Not me. No family, no future. Just... me."

Lynne's eyes widen. "You're an orphan?"

"It's not exactly a secret," Sam says, her tone sharp. "Unlike the rest of you, I'm not waiting for some family reunion."

Lynne looks as if she wants to say more, but Sam cuts her off. "Let's just focus on dinner, okay?"

They fall silent again, the mood heavier now. The tension is broken by Austin's frustrated shout from the other room. "Dammit!"

Lynne turns toward the sound, frowning. "What happened?"

Austin slams the laptop shut and storms out of the room. "Nothing," he mutters, his jaw tight as he heads toward his room.

Henry immediately rushes back to the laptop, his heart pounding as he checks for new messages.

Sam notices and raises an eyebrow. "Why are you so obsessed with that thing?"

Henry doesn't look up. "I'm a computer nerd. What can I say?"

Sam crosses her arms. "Maybe try focusing on people who are actually here instead of hiding behind a screen."

Henry's fingers pause on the keyboard. He looks up at her, his expression unreadable. "Maybe you should try caring about someone instead of pretending nobody ever cared about you."

The words hit like a slap, and Lynne's face darkens with anger. "That was uncalled for."

"It's fine," Sam says tightly. She turns and walks away, adding over her shoulder, "For the record, I did care about someone."

Lynne watches her go, a mix of sadness and frustration on her face. "Great, I guess I'll finish this myself." As she shakes her head, she turns back to Henry, a bit flustered. "You're unbelievable."

Henry doesn't respond, his attention back on the screen. A soft ping interrupts the silence, and Henry's heart leaps. A new message has arrived in the inbox.

He opens it eagerly, relief washing over him when he sees it's from Elijah. The message reads:

Subject: Trust

Hey Henry, I appreciate you trusting me. I know this is sudden, but this is high importance that you and the others need to know that you guys are not safe. These people who are behind this won't stop. I saw what they did to Lynne. Poor girl. I really want to help. So if you are reading this, respond to me. And maybe just in case if 'they' are watching us, we probably going to need something to keep our identities safe. Me and my other friend can do that as best as we can. But for you, you just need to act as if this is just normal. Do you agree?

Henry quickly types back,

Subject: Trust Back

I do agree. I want to hear more from you. And yes, maybe going by codenames might work. Keep them from finding out more about you. If you do want to help us, I'm all ears. And to make sure this is a form of trust, I recommend we use unique codenames. I love Star Trek, so if you do. I think if we can call each other a name that related to Star Trek makes me feel more comfortable. I want to go by Data. I love that foolish yet insightful android from The Next Generation. Do you?

Moments later, another reply arrives. Henry reads it eagerly:

Subject: Hello Data, Meet Spock

Yeah, I love Star Trek! I love TNG! And yeah, I love that lovable droid, but the original series and even the new Chris Pine movies are my absolute favorites. But my overall character I adore is Spock. So if you want to go by Data, that's great. I want to go by Spock. I wish I could give you a 'live long and prosper' salute. Regardless, whenever you need to talk, I will listen.

-Spock out. ;)

Henry smiles for the first time in what feels like days. For now, at least, he has a glimmer of hope—and a connection that feels real. Not an avatar, not a game.

Something genuine.