WRAITH CASE STUDY AUGUSTA PINE
IDENTITY SECURITY DIVISION
THE BEGINNING
The morning I died, I didn’t say goodbye to my family.
I slept through my alarm—because my younger sister had taken it to use in her middle school science fair project without telling me. I yelled at her, heart hammering as I jumped into the shower.
I couldn’t be late to school that morning. I simply couldn’t.
I had spent all weekend on this new hack.
Hours in online forums, in chats with other anonymous instigators of chaos, and, finally, I had managed to write the code.
It was a false update to a car’s stereo system.
I carried my ringware in my pocket as I thundered downstairs and into the kitchen. It smelled of scrambled eggs and toast.
“You’re all dressed up,” said my younger sister, the saboteur. She sat at the kitchen table, devouring cereal instead of the warm food. She had always been a picky eater.
“Because she’s got a boyfriend now.” My older sister leaned against the kitchen counter and sipped from a mug. She had recently discovered coffee, much to my parents’ irritation. She didn’t refill the pot when it was empty.
Embarrassment spilled across my cheeks. “Oh, shut up.”
“Ooh,” said my younger sister, her eyes alight with interest. “How do you know?”
“Someone saw them kissing,” said my older sister, smirking.
“Ooh,” said my younger sister again. This time she drew out the word into at least four syllables. “What’s his name? I’ll find his socials.”
“Absolutely not,” I replied. “You both don’t go near him. The last thing I need is for you two to scare him off.”
“Oh, I wasn’t going to scare him,” said my older sister. “I was going to tell him as many embarrassing stories as I could. Like the time you wet the bed at coding camp when someone let a squirrel into your cabin.”
“Or how you still have dolls in your room,” said my younger sister, catching on.
“You are both terrible and I hate you,” I said.
The toaster went off. I snatched up the two slices of bread and began hastily loading them up with peanut butter.
“Hey, those are mine!” said my older sister, reaching for the stolen slices of toast. I danced out of her reach.
“Mine now,” I said, shoving one piece of toast into my mouth. Crumbs flew into the air.
Dad walked through the kitchen, carrying a laundry basket to the basement. He had gotten very good at ignoring us when we were squabbling. And Mom had left for work already.
My older sister scowled at me and opened the bread box, then pulled two more slices free. I grabbed my backpack and hurried out the back door.
Laughter rang out behind me—my younger sister’s. She made kissy sounds at me and I responded with a rude gesture.
I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t hug them. I didn’t even look back.
When I think back to that moment, that’s what hurts the most. I could have turned around. It would have been so easy to glance over my shoulder, to take them in one last time. To have that memory with me, a warm ember in my chest.
I didn’t say goodbye.
I can never change that.
But I can change what happens now.