"Can't you just give me back my phone?" I asked.
"No," Elara said. Her voice was flat and final.
"I'm bored," I pushed, tugging at the sleeve of her clothes like a kid who wanted a toy. "I have games I need to check. I'm missing all my login rewards. Please, Elara."
"There is a console in the living room," she countered, not even looking up from her tablet. "Play that."
"I told you, those games make me dizzy. The screen is too big. Please. I'm not going anywhere."
I spent the next hour bargaining. I promised I wouldn't run. I reminded her she had my brother, and she had the black credit card that tracked every penny I spent. Eventually, she gave in. She didn't give me my old phone back—that was gone, probably crushed or sitting in a drawer in her office—but a brand-new model arrived at the penthouse a few hours later.
