“Joining us for…?”
I rattle off a string of gibberish, fed to me by the necklace—my half of the entrance key. The gatekeeper bows again, arms spread wide.
“Welcome. Your table is ready.”
Without warning, I’m seated at one of the tables, the chair across from me empty. For now. I light the candle with our agreed-upon cipher. Only someone who knows what to look for, and knows the appropriate complement, can interact with me now. And that’s if they make it past the gatekeeper.
One of the few things that the gummies and silkies agree on is that crypto-rooms shouldn’t exist, and they enforce that agreement. Lethally. Anonymity, in their minds, means loss of control, and that is the one thing they cannot abide.
Naturally, a thriving black market exists to supply crypto-rooms to those willing to accept the risks of using them. Some in the Brown are part of that market, and I hope I never learn their names, nor they mine. A secret known to more than one person is no secret at all.
A figure appears in the chair opposite me, wearing a formal tuxedo, and I feel my heart beat faster.
Some secrets are worth sharing, though.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself.”
I reach across the table, and we intertwine fingers, the sensation reproduced faithfully in my suit. His hands, so unlike mine, free of any calluses or scars. Hands that tried to crush the life from me earlier, hands that reached for my wrist, my neck, my vitals, hands that tried to rend and rip and tear. I force down my memories of the past, of johns grasping instead of caressing, taking instead of giving. I’m going to be happy, dammit, happy with this man who loves me. My anchor.
He grins momentarily, shaking his head, setting shaggy dark hair swinging across his pale face, green eyes twinkling, and I find myself grinning in response, unsure of the joke but delighted to see him smiling.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh, just remembering the encounter earlier. It’s been two years, and you’re still surprising me.”
“It was the only chance I had. You’re too good. The rest of my team never saw it coming.”
He shrugs. “I cheated. We normally don’t wait to reveal ourselves. It’s kind of an unspoken internal agreement, otherwise it’d be too easy to wipe a group, and that gets boring. People don’t want to watch boring.”
I feign outrage, trying to keep a stern look on my face and failing miserably.
“You monster!”
He laughs, running a thumb over mine. Goose bumps ripple across my skin.
“Well, technically a dragon, but yeah, I guess you got me. However, if I’m good, you’re better. I don’t know what else we can do to try and knock you off. Hell, you soloed what everyone else thought was impossible. QA about had a collective heart attack when we did the after-action report.”
My voice turns serious.
“Well, if you think of something, you make damn sure you keep it to yourself. That’s the last thing we… I need. I haven’t even told the others we’re together.”
He nods soberly.
“I hate that we have to play it that way, but I think you’re right. There’s no way the boardshits wouldn’t scream ‘collusion,’ try to stir up another witch hunt.” We both look down, thinking of the past. Of noncommittal responses, corp-speak, and suicides. A relentless typhoon of hate swallowing up another imagined siren and spitting out her bones. He looks back up. “But enough shop talk—how was your day?” he says, faking the cheerfulness I need, his hand reaching up to trace my cheekbone with almost inhuman grace. I sigh.
“The usual. My brother hates me for saving him from some razorgirls, I won’t get enough sleep tonight doing another grayhat job for Mom’s bills, and Mikelas tried to assault me while I was running noodles for Johnny.” I caress his cheek in return. “Just another perfect day in Ditchtown.”
His hand drops back down to the table and pounds it once, a restrained motion.
“Wait, what? Mikelas attacked you? Out there?”
This anger is unlike him. I briefly recount what happened in the hallway. His face turns grim, and he hits the table again, as if it’s someone’s face.
“You need to report it. We can ban him from the Game if it’s an official complaint, or at the very least suspend him for next season. Everyone knows you don’t take conflict outside—that’s rule number one. Not to mention morality laws are one of the few things the gummies try to enforce. Even I know that.”
“Yeah, they try in the dryburbs, but this is Ditchtown,” I respond sourly. “Most likely scenario is some gummie bishop dismisses it for ‘lack of evidence,’ Mikelas comes back angrier than ever, and then he’ll just try something worse. Besides, I handled it. I kicked him in the balls. Hard. His kids might end up sterile, assuming he ever cons one of those boardshits into sleeping with him.”
He shakes his head.
“Yeah, like groinstomping a monster is going to stop him. He’s not going to let it go. He’s going to make it personal. His type always does. Let me file a report.”
“I told you, I can handle it. I don’t need help from the gummies, or your people. No one gives a shit about us out here, and you either learn to take care of yourself or you die. I’m not some damsel that needs saving.”
His lips turn down.
“I give a shit. I’m serious, you should say something. You have the visual evidence to back it up. I can probably help, I’ve got some pull.”
I feel my voice harden.
“And then I’m the one that gets everyone digging into her personal life, along with the inevitable ‘What did you do to make this happen?’ as if assholes unable to control their dicks are somehow my fault. Shit, I get that enough from Kiro already. I’ve told you what I had to do before, to survive. If someone digs deep enough, knows enough to ask the right questions to the right people, they’ll find it. Then I become ‘the slut who slept her way up the ladder.’ Mikelas suspects something, but luckily his boardshits haven’t found anything concrete. Yet.” I exhale forcefully, trying to calm myself down. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Well, it’s your choice.” His fingers tighten on mine. “I just want you to be safe, and I hate that there isn’t anything I can do. I feel like I should be more; like I’m letting you down.”
I smile, his words somehow softening the anger in me, like always.
“Just be you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I know it isn’t easy to watch someone else deal with shit while you’re helpless, believe me.” I pause, thinking of Mom, then banish it from my mind, forcing myself to recapture the earlier feelings of happiness. “But right now, I’m here, you’re here, and I don’t want to think about anything else. I just want to be with you, in this place, where we don’t have to worry about the horribleness of the world for a while. Can we do that?”
“Of course,” he responds gently, reaching back up to cup my face. “Whatever you need, Ashley, if it’s in my power to grant, I’ll make it happen. Just ask. I love you.”
“I love you too, Hamlin.” I blow out the candle, shifting us to an opulent room filled with a massive bed, sheets so soft you could drown in them, pillows ringing every circular edge. A muted glow suffusing the air provides just enough light to see by. I run a finger down his now bare chest, feeling muscles forged in the same crucible as mine, body like a Greek god. Old memories flare up, but I quash them mercilessly. This is for me. This is my choice.