Page 199 of Glitched Play

One word.

Rune.

I watch confusion ripple across her face before something softer settles in.

Her lips part.

The name sounds different now—warmer, beautiful. More beautiful than it ever looked typed across a computer screen.

I swallow. "When did you know?"

Her eyebrows knit together. "Know what?"

Every muscle in my body stills.

She doesn't know.

She truly doesn’t know.

I lower my gaze to the letter in my hand and begin reading.

Dear Glitch,

Today I failed the same level seven times.

Seven.

I almost convinced myself I was terrible at the game.

Then I realized something.

Failure isn't bad.

It's just data.

It tells you what to do next... and what not to repeat.

Games don't punish us for failing.

They teach us how they were meant to be played.

Maybe people are the same.

—Rune

When I look up, tears fill her eyes.

"How... you...?" The words barely leave her lips. "You're my...?"

"Pen pal." My voice catches. "Code breaker. Gaming partner."

I take one slow step toward her, afraid that if I move too quickly this moment will disappear like a dream. Her eyes search mine with the same curiosity they always have, only now I understand why they always felt familiar. I'd spent ten years imagining the girl behind the letters, giving her a hundred different faces. Somehow, none of them ever came close to the woman standing in front of me.

She lets out a shaky breath.

"You're… Glitch."

Hearing my username on her lips without a voice changer between us nearly brings me to my knees.