Morning light spilled across Samuel's apartment, catching the edges of half packed boxes and the mess of open drawers.
He'd made the decision the night before. If his devices were compromised, then the only logical thing to do was to cut them off, all of them.
The laptop, the phone, even the router they sat piled in the corner like contaminated evidence. Samuel moved around them carefully, as if they might explode.
He had spent the last two hours transferring everything worth keeping onto a small external drive. His notes, drafts, and unfinished manuscripts blinked across the progress bar like refugees being ferried across. Each time the transfer paused, his stomach tightened, half expecting the files to twist into something else, half expecting a new message to appear.
But nothing happened.
By noon, he was walking out of an electronics store with a new laptop under one arm, a sealed box for a new phone in the other, and a SIM card tucked into his wallet. The purchases hurt his savings, but peace of mind wasn't cheap.
Back at his apartment, setting everything up felt like clearing his throat after a long silence. New passwords, new accounts, fresh logins. He even scribbled down the new phone number on a sticky note, as though writing it by hand would make it more real, less fragile.
One by one, he began calling the people in his contacts list work acquaintances, his editor, old friends stumbling through the same half explanation each time.
"Yeah, I had some… issues. Needed to change numbers. Just in case."
Most of them didn't ask questions. A few cracked jokes about stalkers or debt collectors. Samuel forced out polite laughs, grateful for how ordinary it all felt.
When he finally dialed Clara, he expected more of the same, and she didn't disappoint.
"New number? What are you, running from the mob?" she teased as soon as she picked up.
"Not exactly." He leaned back against the couch, smiling despite himself. "Just thought it was safer."
"Safer? Please. You can't even keep a cactus alive, and now you're out here pulling Jason Bourne moves?"
"I'm serious," he said, though he was still grinning. "Something was off with my old devices."
"What, you click one bad link and suddenly you're in a spy movie?" Clara laughed. "Careful, Sam. Next thing I know you'll be building a tinfoil hat."
He chuckled. "Don't tempt me. Might look good on me."
"Oh, absolutely. I'll knit you a matching tinfoil scarf. Very chic."
He shook his head, though she couldn't see him. "Laugh it up. You're just jealous I've got a brand new phone."
"Jealous? Of you? Please, I bet you're still struggling to figure out how to turn the thing on. Did you at least get one with buttons, or did you go full touchscreen like a grown up?"
"Har, har. You're hilarious," Samuel muttered. "I'll have you know, I've set up everything myself new passwords, new accounts, the works."
"Wow. Look at you, tech wizard. Should I start calling you Samuel the Cyber Knight?"
He groaned, but his smile lingered. Their banter had always had this rhythm, her teasing jabs, his half defensive grumbles it was grounding, familiar, safe.
But then Clara's voice softened, just slightly.
"Seriously, though… if you think someone was hacking you… who was it? And why you?"
The smile slipped from his face.
He hadn't let himself think that far ahead.
The apartment felt a little smaller, a little closer, as the question hung between them.
Clara chuckled softly. "Just promise me one thing don't let your imagination run away with this, okay?"
"I'll try," Samuel said, though his tone carried more weariness than certainty.
"Good. Now go eat something that isn't instant noodles. And hey, if this mysterious hacker starts leaving love letters in your drafts, I expect to be the maid of honor at your cyber wedding."
Samuel laughed despite himself. "That's a horrifying mental image."
"Exactly my point. Keeps you grounded."
He shook his head, smiling faintly. "You're insufferable."
"And you love me for it," Clara shot back. "Anyway, I've got to run. Just… take care, Sam. You sound… different. Promise me you'll sleep."
"I will," he said. "Promise."
They exchanged their goodbyes, and the line clicked off.
For a moment, Samuel stayed there, phone still in hand, the smile lingering longer than he expected. The banter was good for him, like a tether to something normal.
But as the apartment quieted, Clara's last real question echoed back, sharper than before.
If you think someone was hacking you… who was it? And why you?
The grin faded.
His gaze shifted to the new laptop on the table, its blank screen reflecting just enough light to catch his eye. A clean slate, untouched. Yet the question burrowed deeper what if this wasn't random? What if someone had a reason?
And the thought left him colder than he wanted to admit.