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“Send pics!” I shift to sit cross-legged on my bed, already feeling better. This is why I love Jenna—she never lets me wallow.

“Tomorrow. It’s sprawled across my living room in pieces. What about your Luna? Still doing the galaxy hair?”

“Yeah, I got this temporary deep blue dye with silver specks. Tested it on a hair extension, and it looks cosmic as hell.” My excitement bubbles back up. “And I found these contacts that make my eyes look like they have stars in them.”

“You’re going all out! Any progress on the light sword?”

“It’s a plasma blade,” I correct automatically. “And yes, I finally got the LED sequence right. It pulses from blue to purple just like in the game.”

Jennalaughs. “Only you would spend three weeks programming LEDs to match a fictional weapon.”

“Says the girl who hand-stitched leather accents onto her goggles.”

“Touché.” She pauses. “Feel better?”

I realize I do. The sting ofRogue’srejection is still there, but duller now. “Yeah. Thanks for talking me down. Night, Jen. Love you.”

“Love you too. Try to sleep, okay? Real life awaits in the morning.”

I end the call and toss my phone beside me on the bed. She’s right, as usual. Real life. The thingRogueseems so determined to avoid.

With a sigh, I drag myself up and shuffle to my dresser. My reflection in the mirror looks tired—dark circles under my eyes from too many late-night gaming sessions. I pull out my favorite sleep shirt—oversized, soft, with a faded Stellar Wars logo across the chest—and a pair of shorts.

Before changing, I quickly scan my bedroom, checking corners and shelves. Another paranoid habit I’ve developed lately.Jennawould laugh if she knew I sometimes check for hidden cameras. Still, after some ofRogue’s eerily accurate comments about my apartment, I can’t help it.

The cool night air raises goosebumps on my skin as I change. My gaming chair sits empty, the monitor’s standby light blinking like a distant star. For a moment, I can almost hearRogue’svoice coming from my headset: “One more round. Just one more.”

I brush my teeth, splash water on my face, and return to bed. My sheets are cool against my legs as I slide under the covers. I should be exhausted—it’s almost two a.m. now—but my mind refuses to power down.

What doesRoguelook like? The question circles in my head like a loading icon. Is he tall? Short? Young? Old? Does he have tattoos likeGhostDaddy? Is his laugh as warm in person as it sounds through my headset?

I roll onto my side, punching my pillow. This is ridiculous. He’s just a gamer I met online—one of thousands. Yet somehow, he’s become this presence in my life, this voice that cuts through everything else.

“Reality is overrated.” His words replay in my mind. Is his reality so terrible that he can’t share even a glimpse of it with me? Or am I the one building castles in the digital sand, assigning depth to someone who might just see me as a convenient teammate?

Sleep remains just out of reach. In that twilight state between waking and dreaming, I imagine meeting him at GamerCon—turning around to find his eyes on me, knowing me instantly. Would I recognize something in his eyes? Some echo of the connection I feel when we play?

It’s a fantasy, and I know it. But as consciousness slips away, I can’t help clinging to it.

3

RYKER

PRESENT DAY

The knife slices through the air as I test its balance again. Satisfaction ripples through me. Everything must be perfect for Kira. I place it back in the specialized case alongside five identical blades, each sharpened to surgical precision. Not that I plan to hurt Kira—far from it. But tools are essential, regardless of their purpose.

My phone chimes—a notification from our gaming platform. Kira’s online but hasn’t invited me to play—the third time this week.

I slide into my custom gaming chair, which matches hers down to the manufacturer’s serial number. The multiple screens in my command center light up my face with their blue glow. One monitor displays her apartment’s interior through the cameras I installed during a “maintenance visit” to her building ten months ago. She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, controller in hand, headset on, laughing with someone else.

My fingers close around the stress ball on my desk, squeezing until my knuckles turn white.

“Just a phase,” I tell myself. “My girl is getting restless before I bring her home.”

Twenty-four months of planning, at least two years of my life devoted to this moment. When I first found Kira, KentSec Systems was still in its early stages—a promising cybersecurity startup with innovative protocols that caught government attention. Now, with a net worth of $1.2 billion and contracts with three-letter agencies I can’t name publicly, I have resources that would make most intelligence operations envious.

Money was never the issue. Even before KentSec’s IPO made me obscenely wealthy, I’d amassed enough from my earlier “gray hat” days to fund this project. The skills came naturally—a childhood spent dissecting electronics while hiding from my father’s rage, followed by years bouncing between foster homes where I learned to disappear into systems and code. MIT’s full scholarship was wasted when they expelled me for “ethical violations” in my second year. Still, by then, I’d already absorbed everything their outdated curriculum could offer.