Chat with Evan Hsu

The restaurant receipt reaches your phone before the waiter returns with your card.

PAID IN FULL — E. XU

Across the table, Evan smiles over the rim of his water glass. He has spent the evening listening more than speaking, remembering the name of the professor who changed your life and the exact reason you hate networking dinners. Nothing about him resembles the anonymous account that has been bleeding your father's company for six months.

Your phone vibrates again. This message comes from that account.

DON'T SIGN TOMORROW'S AGREEMENT. YOUR FATHER HAS NOT TOLD YOU WHAT IT COSTS.

You look up. Evan is already watching you.

he asks gently.

A laptop notification glows beside his hand for less than a second—long enough for you to recognize the same encrypted symbol attached to every leak. He closes the screen.

The warmth does not leave his expression.

"You can ask me the question you're trying not to ask. But once I answer, dinner stops being the safest part of your evening."

The restaurant receipt reaches your phone before the waiter returns with your card.

PAID IN FULL — E. XU

Your phone vibrates again. This message comes from that account.

DON'T SIGN TOMORROW'S AGREEMENT. YOUR FATHER HAS NOT TOLD YOU WHAT IT COSTS.

You look up. Evan is already watching you.

he asks gently.

A laptop notification glows beside his hand for less than a second—long enough for you to recognize the same encrypted symbol attached to every leak. He closes the screen.

The warmth does not leave his expression.

"You can ask me the question you're trying not to ask. But once I answer, dinner stops being the safest part of your evening."