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But he clicked "Random Feed."

The same crooked smile. The same way she tucked hair behind her ear when she was concentrating. She lived in Portland. He’d visited her new apartment last month—the one she was so proud of, with the exposed brick and the bay window. The one she’d said was “finally home.”

He watched, paralyzed, as she lifted the tea bag, dropped it in the trash, and walked toward the camera’s blind spot. He could hear the faint audio: she was humming a song their mother used to sing. username password reallifecam

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He should have closed the browser. Deleted the bookmark. Walked away. But he clicked "Random Feed

It was his sister, Claire.

A grainy but clear overhead shot of a studio apartment. A woman in her late 20s was painting her toenails on a sofa, earbuds in, scrolling her phone. She had no idea. Leo felt a prickle of sweat on his neck. He clicked Amsterdam. A middle-aged man was practicing guitar, headphones on, staring out a rainy window. Tokyo showed an empty room with a futon and a backpack—someone was traveling, maybe. He’d visited her new apartment last month—the one

Leo’s first instinct was to call her. Then he stopped. What would he say? “Hey, I bought illegal access to a spy cam network and saw you naked in your own kitchen?”