The drive hummed faintly, its tiny amber light blinking twice before a single dialogue box appeared on the screen, demanding a twenty-character password.
The prompt above the empty field was simple: V. DO NOT TOUCH.
I tried typing our childhood dog’s name, then the name of the street we grew up on in Oakridge, but the red warning text flashed immediately.
Two attempts remained before the system locked me out.
I stared at the blinking cursor, my hand resting on the cool laminate of the table. I had spent years believing Victoria’s constant slights were just the residue of an intense sibling rivalry. She had always wanted the better grades, the grander wardrobe, the brighter spotlight. But as I looked at the encrypted drive, a strange coldness settled in my chest, a feeling that the game she was playing had rules I had never been permitted to see.
My phone on the table buzzed, the screen lighting up with Julian’s name.
