Jace

I watched Harper gather her things, trying not to be obvious about it. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear—a gesture I’d noticed she makes when she’s tired—and smiled at me before heading to the elevator. Something in my chest tightened at that smile.

What was it about her that made it so hard to focus? Sure, she was beautiful, but it was more than that. I loved watching her work, the way she’d bite her lower lip when debugging, the slight furrow between her brows when she encountered a problem. Her eyes would light up when she solved it, like she’d just unlocked a rare achievement.

And when she talked about Beyond Her Shadow. . . that passion was infectious. She knew every detail, every secret path, things even I didn’t know about the game I helped create. I keep meaning to ask her for her game tag, but with everything going on, it slipped my mind.

But getting involved with an intern was a terrible idea. Besides, I wasn’t ready. The game launch was in two months, and we still had major bugs to work out.

Since my ex, I’d barely noticed other women. Work filled the void, kept me distracted. Then Harper walked in with her backup power cord and her genuine enthusiasm, and suddenly my carefully ordered world had a glitch in its code.

I straightened my desk, powered down my system, and gathered my belongings, the soft hum of the monitors fading into silence. The office was nearly empty now, the faint murmur of distant conversations and the clatter of keyboards a reminder that not everyone had clocked out.

I threw my bag over my shoulder, gave one last glance at the holographic display on the wall—a looping reel of Beyond Her Shadow’s protagonist in action—and stepped into the elevator.

The elevator ride to the parking garage felt longer than usual, the soft jazz music doing little to ease the tension that had been building in my chest all day.

When the doors slid open, the chill of the evening hit me like a slap, the fog outside creeping in like an uninvited guest. It hung heavy in the air, turning the fluorescent lights of the garage into hazy halos that gave everything an otherworldly glow.

I pulled my coat tighter around me, the click of my shoes echoing in the cavernous structure as I climbed to the fifth level where my car waited.

I reached the final flight of stairs and paused, gripping the cool metal railing as I caught my breath. The air tasted damp, carrying the faint metallic tang of concrete and oil.

A gust of wind stirred, sending a shiver down my spine. Something about the stillness unsettled me, as though the garage were holding its breath, waiting.

Then I saw her.

At first, it was just a shape—a dark silhouette leaning casually against my car’s silver paint. My car, which I had parked deliberately away from others to avoid scratches and dents, now felt intruded upon.

The figure’s outline was sharp against the foggy haze, and for a fleeting moment, I considered turning around, taking the stairs back down to street level and walking the long way home.

It wasn’t fear that stopped me—it was inevitability.

Margo would just find another way, another moment. She always did.

She was leaning against my car like she owned it, her posture deceptively casual, one leg crossed over the other.

Her red hair flared in the dim light, a slash of color in the gray evening. My stomach clenched. She’d worn that black dress I always liked, the one that made her look like she’d stepped out of a high-end tech magazine. Everything calculated, every precise—that was Margo’s way.

She had always been precise, every movement a performance, every word carefully chosen to cut or to charm. And tonight, it seemed, was no exception.

I hesitated at the edge of the garage level, my feet unwilling to carry me closer just yet. Memories flickered unbidden, fragments of conversations and shared moments, of laughter that once felt genuine and promises that now rang hollow.

The weight of it all settled in my chest like a stone, heavy and cold.

“Working late?” she asked, her voice honey-sweet with poison underneath. Her perfume—the one she knew I loved—drifted between us. “I saw you with her. The way you hover over her desk, showing her the ropes.” She pushed off the car, each click of her heels echoing in the concrete structure. “It’s cute, really. Like watching someone play with fire.”

“What do you want, Margo?”

“I don’t like the way you look at her.” She stepped closer, invading my space the way she always did. “Your little intern? It’s unprofessional. Dangerous, even.” Her fingers traced the lapel of my jacket. “People might start talking. Wondering if that’s how you choose all your interns.”

I caught her wrist, moving her hand away. “It’s none of your business.” I kept my voice flat, fighting back the anger rising in my throat. “Not anymore. Besides, aren’t you seeing someone? That VP from Marketing?”

She waved a dismissive hand, her perfect manicure catching the light. “That was just a stupid fling. A distraction.” Her green eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, I remembered why I’d fallen for her in the first place.

“I’m single again.” Her fingers brushed my arm, and I hated that I still reacted to her touch. “We could pick up where we left off. Remember how good we were together?”

“You mean before or after you decided to ‘explore other options’?” I stepped back, putting distance between us. “Or maybe you mean before I found out about the other ‘distractions’?”

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s ancient history. I’ve changed.”

“No, you haven’t. You’re just bored again.” I unlocked my car, the beep echoing off the concrete walls. “Go home, Margo. Whatever game you’re playing with Harper, leave her out of it.”

“Harper?” She laughed, the sound sharp. “You’re already protective of her? How sweet.” She gathered her purse, every movement deliberate. “Just remember, Jace. I tried to warn you. When everything falls apart—and it will—don’t say I didn’t try to protect you.”

Her words followed me to my car, settling like corrupt code in my mind. The drive home was a blur of fog-shrouded streets and too many thoughts.

I took the long way, up through the hills where the city lights looked like stars fallen into the bay. Music played from my stereo—some playlist I couldn’t focus on—while Margo’s warning echoed in my head.

The thing about Margo was that she never made threats without reason. In the three years we were together, I learned that her “warnings” usually had teeth.

But what could she possibly know about Harper? What angle was she playing?

I pulled into my usual spot outside my apartment building, but didn’t get out immediately. The fog had followed me home, turning the streetlights into ghostly halos. Somewhere in the distance, a ship’s horn sounded, mournful and low.

My phone buzzed—a message from Victoria about tomorrow’s project meeting. Something about reviewing the shadow mechanics again. Lately, it seemed like all our meetings centered around the new shadow engine. Victoria’s obsession with getting it perfect was starting to feel. . . unsettling.

With a sigh, I grabbed my laptop bag and headed upstairs. My apartment greeted me with its usual silence—empty takeout containers in the kitchen, half-finished code on my whiteboard, and the subtle hum of too many devices on standby.

I logged onto Beyond Her Shadow, hoping to lose myself in familiar code and combat. The game’s main menu music filled my apartment—that haunting melody that had taken us weeks to get just right.

A smile tugged at my lips when I saw Shadow_Harpy’s icon light up online. After the day I’d had, kicking some virtual ass with my favorite gaming partner was exactly what I needed.

Roman457: Back for more punishment?

Shadow_Harpy: Please, who carried who through the Shadowmere Dungeon last week?

Roman457: I was letting you have the glory. I’m generous like that.

Shadow_Harpy: Sure you were. Ready to tackle Maloria’s castle?

Roman457: Think we’re ready? That’s endgame content.

Shadow_Harpy: With my shadows and your light abilities? We were born ready.

We worked our way through the Shadowlands, the game’s second most challenging area before Maloria’s castle. Shadow_Harpy’s character moved like a dance of darkness, her powers flowing around us both.

She’d mastered techniques I didn’t even know were possible, finding ways to combine abilities that we hadn’t explicitly programmed.

Roman457: How did you do that shadow-step combo?

Shadow_Harpy: Trade secret! But seriously, I found if you time the phase shift just right. . .

Roman457: While charging the shadow bomb? That shouldn’t be possible.

Shadow_Harpy: Lots of things that ‘shouldn’t be possible’ are. You just have to think outside the box.

She demonstrated again, her character becoming one with the shadows before exploding out in a burst of dark energy that cleared a whole wave of enemies. It was beautiful to watch—the way the darkness responded to her commands, almost like it was eager to please.

Our characters moved through the game world like we shared a brain. Shadow_Harpy’s abilities had grown incredibly strong over the past year. She wielded darkness like an artist, shaping it into weapons, shields, wings—whatever we needed.

Roman457: Nice save with that shadow shield.

Shadow_Harpy: Thanks! Rough day at work? You seem distracted.

Roman457: That obvious, huh? Just some ex drama.

Shadow_Harpy: Ah, the worst kind. Want to talk about it?

Roman457: Rather focus on crushing shadow beasts. Speaking of which. . . on your left!

Her character spun, darkness flowing from her like liquid night, while my light abilities created safe zones around us. We’d perfected this dance over countless hours of gameplay. She knew exactly when to pull back, when to press forward, reading my moves before I made them.

Shadow_Harpy: You know what I love about this game?

Roman457: The incredibly handsome protagonist?

Shadow_Harpy: Ha! No, how it doesn’t make light automatically good and dark automatically evil. They’re just different kinds of power.

Roman457: Deep thoughts while we’re fighting for our lives?

Shadow_Harpy: Hey, I can philosophize and kick ass at the same time!

We were getting close to Maloria’s castle now. The game’s atmosphere grew heavier, shadows moving in ways that seemed almost organic. Shadow_Harpy’s character took point, her powers stronger in the darkness, while I maintained a protective light barrier around us.

Roman457: Ready for this?

Shadow_Harpy: Born—

The message cut off. A system notification flashed across my screen:

PLAYER SHADOW_HARPY HAS BEEN ELIMINATED

I stared at the screen in disbelief. In a year of playing together, I could count on one hand the number of times Shadow_Harpy had died. She was too good, too careful. Plus, I hadn’t seen any enemies, hadn’t noticed any attack. One moment she was there, the next. . .

The shadows on screen seemed to writhe, moving independently of the game physics. For a moment, they formed a shape that looked eerily familiar—like Victoria’s silhouette, watching from the castle towers.

Then the game crashed, leaving me alone with an uneasy feeling that something was very, very wrong.