Her breath caught. She had never written a novel. She’d kept a diary, sure, but not fiction. Not at eight.
Zoboko’s search bar pulsed. Then the answer: zoboko search
Elena’s hands trembled over the keyboard. She wanted to close the browser, but the back button was gone. The window had expanded, swallowing her screen. Her breath caught
“Who is this?” she typed.
The screen went black. The countdown hit zero. Zoboko Search closed itself, and when Elena reopened her browser, the history was empty, as if it had never been. and when Elena reopened her browser