The silence answered.

She stayed there until the city dimmed, then picked up her phone again. Not to post. Not to check her mentions. She opened a private note, one she’d never synced to the cloud, and typed:

Lacey Jayne set down the pen. She walked to the window and pressed her forehead against the cool glass. Down on the street, a couple emerged from a ramen shop, laughing, arms around each other’s waists. No camera crew. No stylist. No hashtag. Just two people, entirely unwatched, entirely alive.