A Morning at 102.0

Don’t go to work. He opened it. Attached was a single image: a temperature curve from the city’s emergency center, the expected afternoon peak flattened in a way that looked deliberate. There was a handwritten note beneath it: They are hiding the peak. Rolling blackouts start tonight. Lin’s fingers stopped moving. “Who sent it?” Sofia asked. “Don’t know.” “A scam?” “Maybe.” He said that out loud, but the shape of the curve felt familiar in a way he didn’t like. It looked like edited data, like redacted warnings, like every meeting where people said, “Let’s monitor the situation first,” while the situation kept tightening around everyone’s throat. Down on the street, someone screamed.