By the third movie, they weren’t even watching anymore. They were inventing their own plots. “What if the janitor is the killer?” “What if the car isn’t a car but a robot ?” They created an entire cinematic universe where every background extra had a secret, tragic backstory.

When the final credits of The Last Sweep rolled—a movie about a janitor who solves a murder with a mop, which was, ironically, better than the actual plot—the power flickered back on. The router blinked green. The Wi-Fi returned with a triumphant little chime.

“Wait,” he said, scrambling toward his dusty bookshelf. “Remember those DVDs? The ones my uncle gave me when he moved to that cabin without internet?”

“Nah,” Leo said. “Let’s watch Sudden Impact again. But this time, I’m timing how long it takes for the hero’s shirt to get inexplicably ripped.”

“He’s going to jump off that building, isn’t he?” Jake said.

Leo, sprawled on the other end of the couch with his feet dangerously close to Jake’s face, didn’t even look up from his phone. “Wi-Fi’s dead. Probably the whole grid.”

“But it was the finale, Leo. The finale . She just walked into the room with the gun. We don’t know who the guy in the mask is!”