The next day, a notification: This user account no longer exists.

The machine whirred to life, but differently—a deeper, slower churn, like a ship changing course. The display cycled through numbers she didn’t recognize: tE 42, rH 89, FAN 0 . After seventeen minutes, it stopped. A final message appeared:

The next morning, Ella loaded the breakfast dishes, added rinse aid for good measure, and ran a normal cycle. When it finished, she opened the door. The glasses were hot. The plastic tubs were bone-dry. The residue was gone.