Page 44 of Glitched Play

For one ridiculous second, his eyes come close to landing on mine. Not my shoulder or desk, but me.

Something warm and unexpected curls low in my stomach.

Then he's looking at the graphs again. The moment gone. "Continue failing," he says. Then he walks away. “Failure is what makes success.”

I stare after him.

Brilliant.

Infuriating.

And unfortunately, attractive.

Thursday afternoon, I finally figure out the issue. It wasn’t the data that helped me. It was the people. The answer has been sitting in front of everyone the entire time.

Nobody stayed because they loved the game.

They stayed because they found someone inside it. Someone else that loved it equally as much.

A rival.

A teammate.

A mentor.

A friend.

For me, Glitch was all those things wrapped into one. Now that he’s disappeared, I haven’t played once.

The players who disappeared weren't leaving because the game wasn't fun. They were leaving because nobody knew they existed. Maybe their friend got a job and was no longer there. Or their rival wasn’t good enough anymore to make it challenging. There are an infinite number of reasons.

By the time I run the numbers, build projections, and connect the behavior patterns, my pulse is racing.

I practically sprint toward Witt's office.

He looks up as I burst through the door, without knocking. Which probably says something about how much time we've spent together this week.

"I figured it out."

His expression doesn't change. "Interesting."

I hate that word.

"Stop saying that."

"It is interesting."

I drop the report on his desk, He studies it while I pace. My entire future suddenly feels attached to whatever happens next.

Finally, he looks up. "You're proposing a rookie program."

"Mentorships."

He nods. "Community integration."

"Yep."

Another nod. "Built-in rival systems."