It became her most-liked post of the year.

“I don’t take days off,” she whispered into the face cradle. “The algorithm punishes you. If I stop posting, the fans leave. If the fans leave, the money stops. If the money stops, I have to go back to cleaning teeth for $18 an hour.”

Her mother paused. “You’re still Sarena Banks?”

Sarena saved that one. Not for the algorithm. For herself.

“The bedroom?” he asked.

Luca was not what she expected. No crystals, no new-age music. He was a squat, bald man in his fifties with the hands of a blacksmith and the calm eyes of a librarian. He carried a simple wooden table under his arm.