Chapter 1

On the last day of the month, I opened my banking app and stared at the screen. The balance still read 100 dollars, the exact amount left over from last month.

My roommate, Winnie, had already changed into the new spring outfit she'd bought. She turned in front of me with a grin. "Emma, be honest. Is this cute or not?"

"It's cute." I made myself smile, then looked back down at my phone.

Dad had called the day before and said he'd already sent my allowance.

He'd sounded worn out, the way he had been lately, but he'd also sounded sure of himself. "Sweetheart, I transferred it. Sixteen sixty-six. You're good, right?"

"That's more than enough, Dad. Don't work too hard," I'd told him, and at the time I'd meant it.

But the money still wasn't there.

At lunch, I bought the cheapest thing I could find in the dining hall: plain pasta with no extras. Even the soft beep from the card reader made my heart jump.

Back in the dorm, I sat on my bed for a long time before finally calling Dad.

"Dad, the money still hasn't come through," I said.

There was a pause. I heard him take a breath.

"It didn't? That doesn't make sense. I sent it yesterday afternoon." He no longer sounded so sure. "Hang on. Let me check."

I sat there gripping my phone, listening to drawers opening, papers shifting, a couple of muffled coughs. About three minutes later, he came back.

"The bank says the transfer went through," he said. "Give me another card number. I'll send it again. Maybe the system's delayed."

Something about it felt wrong, but I gave him the number for another card anyway.

Then I waited. Every few minutes, I refreshed the app. One by one, my roommates left for class until I was alone.

Outside the window, the sunlight shifted across the quad. The clock on the wall crawled toward four.

The balance did not change. 100 dollars.

By the time I called Dad again, my hands were cold. I couldn't keep the tremor out of my voice. "Dad, it still isn't there."

This time the silence lasted longer. I heard him mutter something under his breath, followed by a heavy sigh.

"Hold on," he said at last. "I'm putting your mom on."

My mom came on the line, her voice softer than usual. "Emma?"

"Mom, the money still hasn't shown up," I said.

A few seconds passed. I could almost picture the crease forming between her brows.

"Your dad sent me screenshots of both transfers," she said quietly. "Both of them show as completed. Emma, are you sure you gave him the right number?"

"I'm sure." My eyes were already burning. "Mom, I'm really out of money. At lunch I had to get the cheapest thing they had..."

My throat tightened, and I couldn't finish.

I could hear my parents talking in low voices on the other end, too muffled to make out, but tense enough to make my stomach knot.

Finally, Mom came back. "Emma, don't panic. I'll figure something out. Check again at seven tonight. If it still hasn't shown up, I'll borrow some money from a coworker and send it to you."

After the call ended, the room went completely still. I lay on my bed staring at a crack in the ceiling while a slow, creeping unease spread through me.

Something was wrong.

If it were only a bank delay, both transfers would not have vanished. And Dad's reaction bothered me too.

He hadn't sounded angry. He hadn't even sounded truly panicked. He had sounded hesitant, almost as if part of him had expected this.

At dinner, I went back to the dining hall and got the cheapest meal again.

While I was tapping my student card, the girl behind me whispered to her friend, "I heard somebody got their debit card hacked last week."

A chill shot through me.

At exactly seven, I opened the app again and typed in my password.

The page loaded. Balance: 100 dollars.

Almost at the same time, my phone buzzed with a text from Mom. [Did the money come through?]

I stared at the screen for a second, then typed back one word. [No.]

My phone rang immediately. Video call from Mom. I hesitated, then answered.

Her face filled the screen. She looked more worn out than the last time we'd talked over video. The lines at the corners of her eyes seemed deeper.

Behind her was our living room, lit by the warm glow of a floor lamp.

"Emma," she said without bothering with small talk, "have you gotten any strange texts lately? Or clicked any suspicious links?"

I thought about it carefully. "No. I'm always careful. Mom, what's going on?"