Jane changed into “chill” sweatpants. She checked the mirror. She checked the tablet.

  97%

  “Okay,” she told herself. “Casual.”

  She walked into the kitchen.

  The air was thick with banter. Greg and Sarah volleyed sentences like table tennis pros.

  “—interface is hostile,” Sarah said, leaning on the island. “It punishes you for having eyes.”

  “Exactly,” Greg said, mid-chew. “Is it a dashboard or a ransom note?”

  “It’s a threat,” Sarah laughed. “A threat in Helvetica.”

  Jane jumped. She saw the opening. She knew bad design. This was her lane.

  “The banking app,” Jane said, sliding up to the counter. “The font size is a hate crime. I need a loupe to see my overdraft.”

  She grabbed a quesadilla. She smiled. She waited.

  Greg stopped chewing.

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  Sarah stopped laughing.

  The silence lasted exactly 1.5 seconds.

  “The banking app?” Greg asked.

  “Yeah,” Jane said quickly. “Dark mode. It’s too dark. Like… emotionally.”

  “We were talking about the thermostat,” Greg said.

  “Oh,” Jane said. “Right. Thermostats. Same logic. Bad UI.”

  “Actually,” Sarah said gently, “the thermostat UI is great. We were saying the wall mount is aggressive.”

  Jane nodded like she understood the difference.

  “The mount,” she said. “Yes. Hostile mount.”

  She took a bite. It was too big. She chewed hard to clear her throat.

  96%

  The drain spiked. The tablet warmed against her hip.

  Greg and Sarah reset without effort.

  “Anyway,” Greg said, turning back to Sarah. “I told him, ‘Buddy, I own the crimping tool.’”

  Sarah gasped. “You didn’t.”

  “I did. I said, ‘I’m not paying for labor I already did.’”

  They laughed. Clean. Synchronized.

  Jane swallowed the cheese. She needed to anchor. To be the roommate, not the audience.

  “And the name,” Jane said quickly. “OmniCorp. Don’t get me started. They tried to rename themselves Omni-X.”

  Greg blinked. “Omni-what?”

  “X,” Jane said. “The variable. Lava palette. Very intense.”

  Sarah tilted her head. “That sounds kind of cool.”

  Jane smiled too hard. “It wasn’t.”

  Greg and Sarah exchanged a look Jane couldn’t parse.

  “That was today?” Greg asked.

  Jane hesitated.

  “Earlier,” she said. “Different… context.”

  Sarah nodded politely. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

  “Smells great,” Jane said. Too fast. “I mean—yeah.”

  She took another bite. It tasted like cardboard.

  95%

  She looked down.

  The number had dropped again.

  The tablet was too warm.

  She stepped back from the counter.

  “I have work,” Jane said. “Deadlines.”

  “Oh,” Greg said. Relief, instant. “Bummer. Grab a slice for the road?”

  “I’m good,” Jane said. “Really.”

  She paused. “Have fun.”

  She turned and walked to her room. She didn’t slam the door; she closed it with the careful click of a guest who knows they’ve overstayed.

  She sat on the bed.

  She exhaled.

  92%

  She had spent five percent of her life to break a conversation and get banned from the wine.

  From the kitchen, laughter resumed. Immediate. Loud. Unburdened.

  Narrator: Jane realized the Social Tax wasn’t a fixed fee. It was dynamic pricing. And she was buying at the peak.

  ---

  REFRAME

  Jane thought she could optimize her way to belonging.

  She was optimizing her way to exile.