The family enters the tenth month of quarantine. Everyone seems okay.

And then one afternoon during an at-home Zoom physics class that hasn't captivated him, the sixteen-year-old of the family retrieves a wayward hacky sack from inside a light fixture and finds a tiny listening device in that very same sconce. This all goes down in his mom's office. She's a university professor.

The kid knows it's a listening device because he obsessively reads John Le Carré novels and also watches television.

Naturally, he takes several photos of the device before flushing it down the toilet. Then, he does copious googling and finds it's the same kind of bug frequently used by the one and only Central Intelligence Agency.

Of course, the kid wonders how this little thing happened to appear in his mom's office. He thinks about asking her what she might be up to, but just when he plans to confront her, he overhears her on the phone in a suspicious conversation. I'm not sure what she's saying, but it alarms him, and suddenly, he's just not sure who he can trust. Maybe not her. She might not be who she says she is, and therefore he might not be who he thinks he is either.