Too late. The damage was done. Marcus hadn’t read the spoiler—he’d locked his eyes shut and thrown his phone across the room. But the seed was planted. The episode was out there, living, breathing, being consumed by the unworthy masses while he was trapped in a work meeting about quarterly projections.

And he began to type.

“I see you, Marcus. I see the dusty blinds you never clean. I see the stack of unpaid parking tickets on your desk. I see the way you look at your neighbor, the blonde in 4B, when you think no one is watching.”