Kyle answered on instinct. Marcus’s smug face filled the screen, but he wasn’t looking at the camera. He was looking at something else—his laptop, maybe. His eyes were wide.

Marcus had been his “friend” since sixth grade. That meant Marcus got to shove him into lockers, call him names in group chats, and once, last month, record him tripping in the cafeteria and post it with the caption “breakdancing failure.” Kyle’s mom saw it. She didn’t laugh.

Kyle hung up. His hands were shaking. He opened the app again.

He should have closed the tab. But his phone buzzed—another text from Marcus.

Kyle looked back at the screen. Hit download.

Marcus looked like he’d seen a ghost. “I didn’t say that. I didn’t—Kyle, the video just appeared. On my own account. I can’t delete it.”

Below it, a countdown timer: .