Page 11 of Push My Buttons

I wonder if, in the moments between kills and sarcasm, I could be normal.

But that’s dangerous thinking.

So I shut the laptop, check the locks—again—and crawl into bed, telling myself not to dream about voices that feel like safety.

They’re just pixels.

Just usernames.

Just the only place I still feel real.

Chapter 4

Jace

Ihatemornings.Notin the casual "oh, I'm just not a morning person" way that normal people complain about. I hate mornings with the burning passion of a thousand dying suns. They're loud, bright, and filled with people who haven't yet realized that enthusiasm before 10 AM should be a felony.

But I hate coffee shops even more.

Which is why it makes absolutely no sense that I'm standing in line at Grounded, waiting to order the same black coffee and ginger scone I get every day, surrounded by people who think their caffeine addiction is a personality trait.

The irony isn't lost on me. I, Jace Wilder, game developer and self-proclaimed digital hermit, voluntarily leaving my apartment every morning to stand in a crowded space full of strangers. If my therapist could see me now, she'd probably mark it as progress. She'd be wrong.

I'm not here for personal growth. I'm here because this place has the only ginger scones in a five-mile radius that meet my standards. Perfectly geometric, with exactly twelve visible chunks of crystallized ginger—no more, no less. The ratio ofsweetness to spice is mathematically precise. The texture has the exact right amount of crumble.

I've tried making them myself. It ended with a smoke detector screaming and my neighbor threatening to call the fire department.

And maybe, just maybe, because I want to see her.

I shuffle with the line, scrolling through work emails on my phone. Three bug reports from the QA team. A passive-aggressive message from marketing about the next dev update. Another request to speak at some gaming convention I have zero interest in attending.

"Morning, Wilder!"

I glance up. Theo Dawson stands in front of me, all swagger and expensive cologne. The human equivalent of a push notification you can't disable.

"Dawson," I mutter. "Thought you'd be sleeping off last night's bender."

He grins, unaffected as always. "Some of us can party and still function the next day, Wilder. It's called being well-adjusted."

"Is that what they call it?" I arch an eyebrow. "Seems exhausting."

"Not as exhausting as whatever brooding marathon you've got planned for today." He nods toward my standard all-black attire. "Let me guess—you're headed back to your cave to scowl at lines of code and listen to music that was depressing fifteen years ago?"

I don't dignify that with a response. Theo and I have worked together for three years at Nexus Gaming. He's brilliant when it comes to marketing and player engagement. I handle the backend development—the systems and mechanics that make everything work. We're opposites in almost every way, but somehow it works.

Usually.

"I need caffeine," I say, which is code for 'leave me alone until I've had my coffee.'

He laughs and claps me on the shoulder. "I'm headed to the office. Try not to terrify the baristas with your morning face."

I watch him leave, then return to my phone. The line inches forward. I can smell the coffee now, rich and bitter. My stomach growls in anticipation.

The line continues to inch forward. My fingers drum against my thigh in a specific pattern—three taps, pause, two taps, pause, three taps. It's a habit I've had since childhood, a way to organize the chaos in my head. My therapist calls it a "grounding technique." My college roommates called it "that weird shit Jace does when he's thinking."

I glance around the café, taking in the same familiar details I always do. The chipped paint on the eastern wall. The slightly uneven table in the corner. My eyes inevitably drawing back to the barista with the pink hair working the espresso machine.

Wren.