I poured my coffee without looking at him. "What do you want, Miles?"
"What? I can’t compliment your hair?"
"My hair is the same way it’s been every day this week. It’s not styled. I didn’t do anything to it. There’s a hair tie and a prayer holding it together. Just tell me what you want."
He clutched his chest like I’d wounded him. "I compliment your hair all the time."
"Name one other time."
He opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again. Tried a second time. Same result.
"That’s what I thought." I took a sip. "Spill."
He dropped the performance and leaned against the counter. "There’s a gala this weekend. The Miami Gaming Awards. Hunter Interactive is nominated in three categories, including Best RPG for Ethereal Vanguard. Jace hasn’t attended in five years. The board is using words like reclusive and liability in thesame sentence, which is never good for stock prices or for my ability to sleep at night." He looked at me. "I need him there. And I need you to convince him."
I laughed so hard I almost spit out my coffee. "You’ve lost your mind."
"Hear me out."
"I can barely get him to acknowledge I exist in the same timezone. Last week he communicated with me exclusively through a scheduling app for three days. Three days, Miles. Not a word. Not a nod. Just bullet points on a screen. And you want me to convince him to attend a public event with hundreds of people and shared surfaces and communal everything?"
"I have a feeling he’ll go if you ask."
"What kind of feeling? A psychic feeling? A delusion? Did you hit your head recently? Should I call someone?"
"I’m serious, Anna." The grin was gone. "It’s good for him. Being around people. The isolation, it looks like a choice but it’s a cage. Even when the cage has floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of the ocean."
The word struck something I hadn’t braced for.
Cage. I knew aboutcages. I knew what it felt like to live inside something that looked like a choice from the outside while the walls got closer every day. I knew about a beautiful apartment in Charlotte with good lighting and nice furniture, where I couldn’t leave because the man who paid for everything had made sure I had nowhere else to go, and no one left to call.
I didn’t say any of that. I just took my coffee and went back to my desk.
The morning passed. Emails. Calls. The Meridian narrative team sent another revision request that I forwarded to Jace’s inbox. A developer named Sam stopped by to ask if Mr. Hunter had reviewed the Ethereal Vanguard texture update, and I told him I’d check, and he thanked me with the desperate gratitudeof someone who’d rather communicate through a third party than knock on that office door himself.
My phone pinged around ten. Salary deposit notification. First paycheck from Hunter Interactive.
I stared at the number on the screen for a long time, doing the math in my head. Rent. Miley’s utilities that I still owed. Groceries. Phone bill. The minimum payment on a credit card I’d been pretending didn’t exist. What was left after all of that was a number that could generously be described as depressing.
And then there was the suit. Twelve thousand dollars. A debt I’d carry for the next decade if I didn’t start now.
I’d told him I’d pay, and I was going to. Because I didn’t break promises, not even the ones my bank account was going to need years of therapy to recover from.
I knocked on his office door.
"Come in."
He was at his desk. Cube moving in his left hand while his right held a contract, because apparently running two independent cognitive tasks at once was just something his brain did to stay entertained. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms and his glasses were low on his nose, and there was something distractingly composed about him that I had to force myself to look away from.
"I want your bank details," I said. "I’m starting payments on the suit."
He didn’t look up. "Forget it."
"I’m not going to forget it," I stated, steadying my tone. "I pay my debts. First installment goes today."
"Ms. Wilson. Let it go."
"I won’t."
