Page 96 of Glitched Play

“It’s one of them,” I admit, giving a woman like Dara more information then she needs to calculate what’s happening in my head.

She nods again, but this time it feels less like agreement and more like permission she doesn’t want to give. Then she turns toward the door.

Before she leaves, she glances back. “For the record, distance doesn’t fix everything.”

“No,” I say, returning to my screen. “But it improves visibility.”

“No, a clear day without fog or rain improves visibility and enables someone to see farther down the road,” Dara says as she closes the door.

The office is quiet again and I’m alone with my thoughts. I hate that Dara out analogied me and analogied isn’t even a word but it fits.

Visibility.

Fog.

Distance.

Future.

God, she’s good.

I should feel better now that I have Dara refocused on finding Maci an apartment.

I don’t.

By late afternoon, I’m on a plane to Chicago for a team-owner summit I could have attended virtually if investors didn’t enjoy pretending in-person meetings make ideas more valuable.

The flight is smooth. The cabin is quiet. My laptop is open on the tray table, and a draft presentation sits untouched on the screen while the clouds spread beneath the window in soft white layers.

I should work, instead, I realize I haven’t checked the encrypted chat in four days.

Four days.

Ninety-six hours.

That number should have been impossible.

For nearly ten years, checking that chat was automatic. Airports. Hotel rooms. Backseats of rideshares. Three a.m. coding spirals. Convention centers full of people shouting over demo screens. I checked before takeoff, after landing, between meetings, before sleep. Even when Rune wasn’t online, the act of looking felt like keeping a door unlocked.

Now, for four days, I have not touched the handle.

The guilt is immediate.

I open the chat.

No new messages.

Of course.

The last one is still mine.

Unread.

Or read and unanswered.

The system doesn’t tell me anymore.

I stare at the empty message box, and the memory comes so clearly it interrupts the hum of the plane.