The messages were sent.
Seven little packages of terror, winging their way through the digital ether to land in the phones of seven boys who probably thought they were safe in their beds. Screenshots. Video previews. Just enough to make them understand that the charity case they'd spent years tormenting wasn't quite as harmless as they'd assumed.
Just enough to make them piss themselves in their Egyptian cotton sheets.
Phei set his phone down and stretched, feeling the satisfying pop of his spine.
Done.
Now he just had to wait for the panic to set in. For the frantic group chats. For the desperate 4 AM calls to daddy's lawyers.
Let them stew.
But his body wasn't ready for sleep. Not yet. There was still something nagging at the back of his mind.
My Daily routine is incomplete.
Right. The grind.
